Life After
by momma2mm
Summary: One year has passed since the war ended. Katniss and Peeta, having fought their way through loss, grief, and flashbacks, finally have peace within their grasp, but can they keep hold of it when the Capitol recalls the Mockingjay? AU, but based on canon.
1. Chapter 1

Cold. Bright. Too Cold. Too Bright.

Shivering against the cold I instinctively reach to pull up the collar of my hunting jacket but startle my fingers gasp soft fur instead of the worn leather. My eye immediately dart down my length of my body, but even as they take in the fur-trimmed satin teal cloak wrapped around me, my brain can't seem to process the site. _Where is my father jacket?_ my brain demands.

Grappling with my confusion, I run a hand down the silky front of the garment but gasp when the skin of my wrists begin to tingle and sting wherever the fur at my cuffs touches me. Instinctively I begin yank at the offending fur, but soon as the delicate skin of my palms touches it I feel as if I've grasped a hot coal. I yelp and yank my hand away and finding it red and blistered. Reaching up with my uninjured hand I begin racking at a button at my neck that seems responsible for keeping the garment attached to my body. The intensity of burning sensation begins to grow, not just at my wrists but around my neck as well and soon my movements become frantic. I've just about worked the button from its when suddenly the air around me is filled with a strained and tortured scream.

"KATNISS!"

My burning skin forgotten, my head snaps up. The brightness that was offending moments before now completely floods my senses. My head swings instinctively into my shoulder and a hand comes up to shield my eyes. My eyes gradually adjust and to my surprise, I find that source of the illumination light, but color. Surrounding me are vibrant, almost shimmering, shades of pink, yellow and orange. The gaudy and painfully bright shades cover nearly every vertical surface of the builds that surrounds me. A breath catches in my throat, I would know this garish collection of buildings anywhere; I'm in the heart begins pounding painfully in my chest as my eyes gaze dart the landscape.

Suddenly a whisper catches on the cold breeze. "More like a sunset," it calls out to me.

I'd know the voice anywhere. "Peeta!" I scream. But even as my voice echoes of the buildings surrounding me, the burning of my skin intensifies. That which started at my neck and wrist now reach down my chest and up to my elbows. I groan out in pain but try to ignore it as I begin spinning in circles trying to recall the direction Peeta's voice came from. I find the streets eerily devoid of life and the pain makes concentrating on my task impossible. A growl of frustration just leaves my throat when another, all too familiar voice echoes down the street again.

"Katniss!" it pleads.

There is no confusion as to which way the sound came from this time. Instantly my feet take off in the direction of the cry.

"PRIM!" I shriek.

As I run the cloak wraps around my legs constricting my movements igniting my skin even further, but I push through the searing pain. As I run, Peeta's voice calls out again.

"Help me Katniss! Please!" he begs.

As before, the direction of his voice is undeterminable. "Where are you?" I beg as tears begin to stream down my face, but streets are silent in return. I run for what feels like forever, winding down one empty street after another until suddenly I find myself at the edge of the city center, the president's mansion looming over a vacant square. My feet skid to a stop and I instinctively know that I have reached my destination.

I quickly dash behind the corner of the nearest building and try to slow my heavy breathing. With breath normalizing a bit, I slide down to crouch and peek around the corner of the buildings bright yellow façade. Across the empty cobblestone square and behind a large ornate gate is the perfectly manicured lawn of the presidential mansion. In the middle of the lawn is a small garden of white roses and nestled in it a large steel plate. I recognize it at once. It is exactly like the transport plates used to bring tributes into the arena.

Giving the vacant square a warily glance, I cautiously begin crossing the square towards the lawn. I've only taken a few steps when the pedestal grinds to life. My first instinct is to run back to my hiding spot, but with Peeta and Prim's voice still fresh in my mind I push myself forward, but cautiously and on hunter's feet. I've made it about halfway across the square when the "tribute" finally appears on the pedestal. It's Peeta and he is strapped to a hospital bed. I know immediately that person on the plate is not the Peeta that was sent back to Thirteen to kill me, but my Peeta. The Peeta with the bread. The Peeta with the pearl. Peeta my friend.

"PEETA!" his name comes out in a strangled cry.

His eyes shoot to mine and they are afraid, frantic. My heart jumps into my throat and my cautiousness of moments ago is forgotten as I sprint out across the square towards him.

"Katniss...Katniss...please! I need help!" Prim's scream echoes from my right.

My feet come to a halt about 10 feet from the gate of the mansion and my head snaps in the direction of her scream. About a 100 years away I find Prim kneeling next to a little girl in a lemon yellow coat. She has her hands pressing a bloodied cloth to the girls head but her eyes aren't on her task they are instead lifted skyward. I don't need to look up to see what she's staring at, I know what's coming. Fear and horror pulse through me.

A deeply anguished cry suddenly come from Peeta and my head whip back in his direction. The _vignette_ in the yard has changed, Peeta has joined by the one and only President Snow. In Snow's hand, I spot a syringe full of neon green tracker jacket venom poised and ready to be plunged into Peeta's bicep. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes dart from Peeta, to Prim, up to the slowly descending parachutes, and back to Peeta again.

President Snow grins at me with his snake smile and shakes his head. "You can't save either of them," he hisses and in one smooth motion jabs the needle into Peeta's arm and depresses the tracker jacker venom into his vein.I gasp and my stomach turn threats to spill its contents onto the cobblestones under my feet.

"No!" I scream but it's too late.

One look at Peeta's face and I can see he is already gone. He's pleading eyes are replaced with murderous ones. He begins screaming hateful things at me and straining against the bed restraints trying desperately free himself so that he can kill me.

Tears fill my eyes and my heart wrenches, but I shake my head against a sob.

"Peeta's gone, I have to save Prim," I whisper aloud to myself, but somewhere deep in my brain, I know my old Peeta has been gone for a long time and that I can't save Prim either because this isn't real.

My head spins as reality and nightmares war against each other for purchase in my consciousness. Though I know it's futile, I blindly stumble towards Prim. A snapshot from reality fills my field of vision. As if frozen in time I see Prim, her long blonde braid over one shoulder, kneeling amongst the broken bloody bodies of Capitol children, her face still turned up to the sky.

I know what comes next but I can't keep the strangled desperate cry that tears out of my throat. "Prim! RUN PRIM!"

And now I'm running towards her. I run fast as my feet can carry me but it seems no matter how fast I run Prim never gets closer. Then suddenly I'm aware that the fur of cloak that was scorching me earlier has now burst into flames. Flames lick and climb, working work their way up my body toward my face but I ignore, I continue running.

"Prim... Prim please... please run" I desperately plead, but even as the words leave my mouth, I see a little gray parachute land gently on the ground directly in front of her.

Suddenly everything goes red, orange and yellow and Prim's form is wrapped in fire. In hot, scorching, killing fire. I open my mouth to call out to her but fire fills it, stealing my breath. My words. My soul. Soon my whole body is ablaze and as I fall to my knees in agony I hear President Snow's laugh on the hot wind, "Ladies and gentleman... Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire..."

A loud boom rattles the very floor of my room and shakes me awake. I shoot straight up in bed, my eyes wide but the fiery nightmare still threatens to me. Tears fall hot and desperate down my face as I try to grasp onto reality. One my hands frantically reaches out across the expanse of my bed for Peeta but it only finds rumpled cold sheets. As the room slowly comes into focus reality seeps in. There are no arms for me to find refuge in. Peeta's asleep three houses away, probably fighting his own nightmares of me as a mutt.

Reaching shaky hands down, I tug at the blankets that I kicked off and pull them to my chin before sinking back against my pillow. I take a long shaky breath, I try to focus on the rain tapping against my bedroom window, but it's no use. All I can think of is the image of my sister turning to ash. Renewed tears squeeze between my closed eyelids as a familiar feeling fear and desperation claim me once again. My terror is brought to a whole new level when lightning flashes and a boom of thunder so loud shakes the house, rattling the windows in their frames.

A surge of panic so intense drives me out of my bed, down the stairs and sprinting barefooted down the stone path of Victors Village before my brain can even register what I'm doing. Slowly the fingers of the ice cold rain that pummels me, working it's into my subconscious and my feet stutter to a stop. Taking a few deep breaths, my expelled air comes out in misty clouds as I fight for some control over my racing heart. I've nearly convinced myself to head home when a clap of thunder shakes the earth under my feet. Any control I had reigned in disappears in an instant and my terror goes into overdrive.

Feet sliding on the rain-slicked stones, I run down the path and up Peeta's walkway. Reaching his steps I hastily clamor up them, but my foot slips about halfway up and I stumble, landing on my hands and knees. Sharp pain shoots through my right knee and down my leg, but the pain doesn't deter me. I curse under my breath and limp, albeit more cautiously, up to the landing. It's only when my hand touches the coolness of doorknob that I stop. I can't make myself turn it.

Taking a shaky breath, I reluctantly drop my hand to my side and slump down to the ground. Sobbing softly, I rest my forehead against the wet surface. I so desperately want to go inside. I want to, as I had done so many carelessly times before, slip into Peeta's bed and his comforting embrace. I want to be warmed by him, made to feel safe by him, but that isn't reality. What it is…it's proof of my selfishness. Of me wanting to take what I need from Peeta. Me, once again, not considering his feeling, his needs or his thin hold on sanity.

Peeta's return to Twelve a year ago has done nothing but good things from simple presents brought with it a sense of peace that I needed to begin the task of trying to live again after Prim's death. Our relationship, whatever it was before the rebellion, of course, doesn't look the same, how could it? With his highjacking and the deep scares, we both carry from the rebellion and our times in the arenas, neither of us is who we were before. It has been the healing power to time, and of course Peeta's persistence, that has helped us develop a new connection. It started slow, as most things that endure do, with silent breakfasts a few times a week. Slowly things morphed into walks around Victors Village in the afternoons, then to working together in the garden next to my house caring for the primroses, he planted for Prim and our small vegetable garden. Eventually, it turned into most evenings spent together, sometimes Haymitch joining us, to work on our memory book. Time has knitted back together into a new configuration, and this new connection doesn't include much touching. Yet in spite of the hours we've spent together in the last 6 months, we physically touch very little. Outside of accidental brush of a hand or necessary contact, I keep my distance from him. It was early on it became clear to me that my physical proximity makes his hijack episodes occur with more frequency and intensity.

Peeta is healing, and thanks to his diligent focus on his therapy he is far from the raving madman he was in Thirteen a year ago. His progress has slowly chipped away at the mutt the Capitol made and I know that these days there more than enough of the old Peeta inside of him that if I go to him he won't turn me away. It is this reality that has carried me to his door tonight, but I also this that keeps me from him. Holding me would have consequences for him that I can't begin to imagine.

Bringing my fingertips to the door I rub slow circles in the raindrops and I weep. Sobs escape me for what has been done to us, for our dead family and friends, for Peeta and the personal hell in his head, but selfishly, I mostly weep for the loss of the safe harbor I used to find in his arms. _I'm useless. I'm selfish._

I don't know how long I sit being drenched by the rain as I wallow in self-pity, but when a light from the hallway suddenly cascades through the doors sidelight I'm instantly alert. Sitting up straight, I angrily swipe at the tears mixed with rain on my face as I focus on the sounds beyond the heavy door. My hunter's senses aren't needed to identify Peeta's heavy approaching footfalls. I'm frozen only momentarily as I consider staying right here, waiting for him to open his door to me, but then I remember my selfish nature and choose to put Peeta first.

Lumbering to my feet, I move on cold stiff legs down the front stairs. I've barely hidden in the bushes at the bottom of the stoop when the door opens and the warm light cascades down the stairs and onto the wet ground around me. Gazing branches of an ornamental spruce, I watch as he steps out into the downpour and looks around. My breath catches as his eyes sweep to my hiding place, but he quickly looks away. He gives the yard one last curious look, before turning and heading back inside. I stay crouched and shivering in the bush long after he's turned out the light in the hallway. When I'm certain he isn't returning, slowly detangle myself from the branches. Wrapping my arms around my middle I begin making my way towards home. The rain has stopped now, and the sun has begun to push its way into the valleys around me. I bask in the oranges of the coming sunrise and thinking of nothing but Peeta.

I stay crouched and shivering in the bush long after he's turned out the light in the hallway and his steps have disappeared into the mammoth house. I wait until I'm certain he isn't returning before slowly detangle myself from the branches. Wrapping my arms around my trembling middle I begin making my way towards home. The rain has stopped now, and the sun has begun to push its way into the valleys around me. I bask in the oranges of the coming sunrise and thinking of nothing but Peeta.


	2. Chapter 2

Dipping my brush into the soft yellow paint on the pallet in front of me, I swirl it around mindlessly as I regarding the canvas in front of me. Only a couple hours earlier it had been blank, but having fled my bed to escape a nightmare of sewer mutts, haunting screams and explosions, I had taken refuge here my study turned painting studio and let the rhythmic tapping of rain and sound of the brush against canvas push the lingering images from my waking consciousness. As my hand works across the surface of the canvas in small practiced strokes, my mind begins replaying my day and it's events which in turn inspired my current painting.

It had been a sunny and surprisingly warm day for early May though you wouldn't guess it now with the rain coming down in buckets outside my window. My morning had been spent baking bread, nothing fancy just wheat loaves, and quite a few of them.

With the number of reconstruction workers increasing in Twelve every day, and the still too infrequent trains carrying grocery supplies from the Capitol, staples like bread have become quite the commodity. It had been fortuitous that my therapist, Dr. Aurelius, has suggested baking and painting as part of my mental health therapy, because even from my hospital room in the Capitol I had started stockpiled my pantry, so between my reserves and the trains, though unpredictable they may be, I've able to keep families supplied with baked goods.

By noon I was hungry and hot. Since my kitchen wasn't designed to be a bakery it can get quite warm after the oven has been running for 5 hours straight, so I decided to take a break for lunch under a tree in my backyard. I had just unwrapped a sandwich from a kitchen towel and when I see Katniss come around the side of her house.

Dressed in her hunting jacket, her bow slung over her shoulder, she has in one hand what appears to be a large turkey and tied to her belt a couple of rabbits and three or four squirrels, it look like she had a very successful mornings hunt. Like me, she seems to weather the hard days a little easier if she keeps herself occupied. She hunts, I bake, and we hope that it's enough to keep the darkness at bay.

Pausing briefly at her back door she dropped her game bag and quickly unties the rabbits and squirrels lays them atop the bag, then turned and crossed the backyards, the turkey still in hand. Stopping only a few feet from me, she silently holds out the bird for my inspection. Giving it a good once over I look up into her eyes, but find she has her fixed on a spot in the grass in front of her.

"That is one big bird," I point out and then curse myself for stating the obvious.

She doesn't say anything but lets her hand fall to her side, the rear end of the bird coming to rest on the ground even though she still has it's neck in her hand. Clearing my throat, I push the awkward silence aside and lamely ask, "What are you going to do with it?"

With that, she cautiously raises her gray eyes to mine and for a brief moment, a smirk crosses her face. "Well,I figured we'dl eat it," she says pointedly, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly

This was the closest thing to a smile I've seen in a week, most of the time pain and sadness linger just under the surface, so I return the gesture with a small smile of my own, hoping it won't scare her back into her shell. "Oh yeah? You, me, Haymitch and what army? Katniss that thing," I say gesturing towards the bird, "it's huge!"

Again the corners of her mouth twitch upward. "Probably mostly feathers," she counters. I give her a look of doubt, and in turn she lifts it up and gives it once over inspection. "Yeah, okay. Maybe it's a little on the large side for just the three of us," she says slowly, her face retreating back to the more sullen look I've grown accustomed to.

Not wanting the light in her to fade, I frantically think of a way to pull her back. "We could just name it and turn our trio into a quartet," I say, and even as I do a memory surfaces. Young Katniss in a red dress singing the Valley Song. For a second I start to panic, afraid I will tumble into a hallucination, but the only thing I feel is a slight pang of affection. I guess the capitol didn't mess with that memory. I smile.

My lame attempt at a joke seems to work, and the corners of her mouth turn up in a small smile again. "I don't know how good of singer this guy would be," she says holding the bird up again, "broken neck and all."

At this I actually chuckled a little, the sound is odd in my ears. When was the last time I laughed I wonder absently.

"Well considering Haymitch and I probably would sound worse than our friend with the crooked neck here," I say pointing to the bird, "how about we do like you suggest and eat it. To avoid wasting it we could ask Greasy Sae and her granddaughter, Thom, and his new girl...Becca? Is that her name?" I ask. Katniss gives me a cautious look but nods confirmation and I continue, proposing "We could have them over for a big dinner," but even before I finish speaking I can see panic flash in her eyes. "Or we could cook it up and make soup from the extra, take it down to the work crews downtown," I counter offer quickly.

I can see her weighing her options. "No," she finally decides, "let's have the dinner."

"Are you sure?" I ask.

Her eyes which had drifted down to the bird, then back up to meet mine. "Yes." she says attempting a resolved tone. "It'll be good."

I nod in agreement and decided to change the subject. Holding up half of my sandwich to her I ask, "Want some lunch?" She stares at me, her face unreadable for a moment , but reaches over and takes the offering. Dropping the bird on the far side of the tree she sinks down in the grass next to me and we eat our lunch in companionable silence.

Sandwich consumed, Katniss brushing the crumbs from her lap before standing and going over to retrieve the turkey. Without a word she turns towards her house to leave, but she only takes a few steps before she stops and turns back to me. "The garden needs weeding, could you help me with that?" she asks softly. I can see that tears have come to pool along her bottom eyelids and are threatening to escape.

The garden with the primroses is still a hard place for her to be alone in. "Yes, of course," I agree without hesitation. "I have loaves in the oven, once they are out I'll come over." She nods in understanding and without another word turns and heads for home.

I stand and absently brush away my own wayward crumbs as watch her retreating form, today is one of her quiet days. She has good days, bad days and days like this when she's just quiet and introspective. At first, days like this unnerved me, made me think she was slipping back into the deep dark place she was in when I first came home, but over time I've come to see that they are just part of her healing process. Once she is out of sight, I turn and head for my own house. I stop first in the kitchen to pull the last four loaves from the oven before quickly going to my room to change into work clothes. On my way out the door, I stopped briefly in the kitchen again and grab two of loaves I had baked earlier in the day and tuck them under my arm before heading out the back door and across the yards.

First stop, Haymitch's. Pushing open his back door I step into to the darkened kitchen. Haymitch is in one of usually sleeping spots, his kitchen table. I don't bother waking him, I just find a clean kitchen towel, which is actually easy since Greasy Sae starting doing his housekeeping, and wrap a loaf of bread in it and put it on the counter. I'm about to leave when I remember the turkey. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil off the desk by the phone, I jot a quick note and leave in on the table in front of him before heading out the door.

I just about reached Katniss back stoop when the screen door opened and she stepped out. Stretching out my hand I offer her the loaf of bread I'm carrying. "Thanks," she says softly. I nod. "I'll just put this in the kitchen," she says and disappears into the house again.

I don't wait for her to reappear before I head around to the side of the house. I take a slow stroll along the garden bed, eyeing first the primroses against the house, but also take an inventory of the seedlings in the ground closer to me. The vegetables had been an addition this spring after we realized over the winter that the supply trains were not reliable.

Deciding on a closer inspection of the primroses first, I gingerly I cross over on a stone path in the middle of the garden, kneel ackwardly and begin pulling a few stray weeds from around the base of the flowers. Giving the flowers a though once over, I'm happy to see thy are looking healthy and have gotten quite large since I planted them here late last summer.

Behind me, I hear the clang of a spade inside of a bucket and know that Katniss has joined me. "I think by next month these will be ready to split," I state as I pull up another weed by its roots.

"Hum?" she asks mindlessly.

Pausing, I look over my shoulder at her, she kneeling on the ground in front of a baby tomato plant, her hands gently tieing the thin stem to a stick with a piece of twine. "The primroses, they're getting quite large, we should divide them up," I explain.

She looking up and meets my eyes. "You know you kind of freak me out when you say stuff like that. You're a townie, you're not supposed to know how to garden," she says.

I feel my mouth turn up in a smile. "Ah, that is true," I agree, "but thanks to the generosity of the Capitol, I was taught to read," I say mimicking the affected accent of Capitol. She rolls her eyes at me and moves on to the next tomato plant.

Turning back to the primroses, I stare at them for a long moment before reaching out and plucking one of the flowers. Standing up, I stiffly make my way over to kneel next to Katniss. I hold the flower out to her.

Her gaze lingers a long moment on the flower in my outstretched hand before she slowly brings her hand to the bloom and lets her fingers play gently over the silky petals. "They're the same color as her hair," she says quietly taking the flower from my hand. She stares down at it as a single tears silently falls to drip onto the soft yellow petals.

We're quiet for a long moment before I say softly, "It's as of they were named for her, not the other way around."

Katniss sadly nods her head, "Thank you," she whispers, placing the bloom behind her ear.

We silently go back to our work tending to the tomatoes and weeding, but what I want to do is reach out and place my hand on her back in a gesture of comfort, but I can't. It's part fear that the contact will trigger an episode and part the fact that she's still too damaged to accept it.

The arena's, the war, they each took parts of her soul, but the bombs that took Prim from this world, they took her will to live. Over the past several months she has begun to heal, well maybe not heal exactly, but she has at least decided to not die. She gets up, showers, eats, hunts and on her better days she gardens with me, it is however, the tribute memory book that has probably helped her the most. We've worked nearly every day for the past few months on it. It seems that each page we complete, gives her back a small part of what was taken, and for that I'm grateful. As the thought crosses my mind I ponder it. A year ago I wouldn't have felt this way, no a year ago I wanted to kill her, so grateful she is choosing not to die is a significant improvement.

Moving back to 12 has turned out to be better for me than I, or my doctor, had anticipated. Actually, it's downright amazing to Dr. Aurelius, he was against my returning. "Peeta, moving back, it's counter intuitive to your recovery, not to mention the danger you will put Katniss in," he had said to when I told him my plan to return. "I know as your treatments have been progressing that some of your old feelings are surfacing. You may be feeling a longing to be near her but Peeta, I'm not sure you're ready for this...you never may be." His worry was understandable, and I could see how he might be worried I'd be dangerous, but he was wrong about my motives.

My sole purpose for returning was not Katniss, at least not in the way he supposed. I wanted to go back to District 12 because it was my home. It is where I had been raised, where my family was buried, where I felt most at home. I had been all over Panem and could choose to live anywhere, on a beach or next to a cornfield, but what I needed was mountain air. I may have grown up a "townie", never snuck beyond the fence like Katniss, but the mountains still called to me. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

Dr. Aurelius, and pretty much everyone else, thought it was love that brought me back to 12, but it wasn't as simple at that. Being honest with myself, I have to admit that Katniss played a part in my coming home, but it wasn't as simple as love. I can remember loving her, from before. It was simple and uncomplicated. In spite of fighting for our lives and the fact she didn't return my affection, I had loved her so deeply and for so long it was like breathing to me. The feelings I was returning with were not that straight forward. Fear, hate, like, loathe, admire, need, all described the emotions that swirl within me, but the strongest was duty.

As I had begun to sort through all the images real and not real, the overwhelming sense I had was that of duty. One night during the war while our squad was hiding in the underbelly of the Capitol, I had asked her if she was till protecting me and she had said yes,"Because that's what you and I do, protect each other."

Many of my memories were tampered with during my torcher, but now enough of them had been restored to know that I owed Katniss. She saved me in the first games and was going to sacrifice herself in the quater quell. She even faked our romance in part to protect me, though the Capitol had worked every hard to make me feel otherwise. The war, the abuse by people in power, the death of Prim, they all damaged her, broke her into a thousand pieces, the questions I had were, could she be put back together and could I protect her from herself during the process? What I did know for sure is that we protect each other, so I came home.

A far off rumble of thunder is what pulls me back to the task at hand. Looking up into the sky I notice the dark clouds off to the north and nodding my head at them. " We better be finishing up," I tell her.

Katniss lifts her face up to look at darkening sky and as she does her hair falls over her shoulder and the primrose blossom tumbles from behind her ear. Without a thought I pluck it from the grass and reach up to slid it back to is its place behind her ear. As the tips of my fingers brush her warmth ear and the smooth strands of her hair cover my hand, a now all too familiar warning alarm raises in my head. My reflexes take over and I quickly snatch my hand way from her, sending the flower falling to the ground again. The rain begins to fall in a soft mist coating the grass causing my heels to slip as I scramble to stand up awkwardly.

Startled by my movements her eyes shoot up and lock with mine. "I'm...I'm sorry" she stutters.

My mind has begun it's sickening spin, but I manage to shake my head at her. "No Katniss, it's okay," I say taking in deep breaths and pushing the growing fear from my mind. "It will pass," I promise, balling both of my hands in fists so that my fingernails bite into my palms.

Katniss scoots back on the grass putting more space between us before she stands up with tears in her eyes.

Between deep breaths I beg, "Don't Katniss...I'm...fine."

She doesn't look convinced. "I should be more cautious," she whispers.

In spite of my own warning bells, I can't stop myself from taking a step towards her. "This is not your fault," I state with more force than I mean.

Her face goes soft and sad at the same time, "It's not your fault either," she says softly. For a long moment, we simply stare into each others eyes before she reaches down and picks up the bucket at her feet. "Thank you for helping with the garden, but perhaps we should call it a day," she says giving me one last glance before turning for the door.

Anger flashes in me, not at her but at Snow and at what he did to me, but I quickly tap it down because it's a pointless to give into something I can't change. "What about the book," I call after her retreating form.

She stops and turns to face me, "Not tonight, tomorrow...after dinner," she suggests. And with that, I know she's closing herself off from me. She does this whenever she thinks I'm struggling with as flashbacks, she thinks it will make it easier for me, but the truth is that time with her what makes them less frequent and less intense. But I know it's pointless to argue, so I just shake my head in agreement. She nods and heads into the house.

As the image of her retreating form replays in mind, I drop my brush in the jar of paint thinner and sit back to consider my work. Shocked is the closest word I can find for what I feel as I appraise what I have created. For the first time since before the quarter quell, I've painted Katniss, and I didn't even know I was doing it.

I originally planned on painting a landscape of primroses in the woods, and while I have painted a primrose, it is the one tucked behind Katniss's ear from this afternoon. The painting is a profile of sorts, in focus is the top of her ear and the bloom then radiating out from there the painting goes into the soft focus of her hair and profile of her face. It's soft, delicate, and totally surprising to me. How could I not know I was painting this?

Unnerved I take a shaky deep breath and rubbed my temples as my thoughts swirl around as if on a whirlwind. When I hear a soft scraping sound at my front door I nearly jump out of my skin. Alerted I listen for a long few moments and just when I think I've imagined the sound, I hear it again.

Getting up, I half walk, half stumble, as the stump of my leg above my artificial leg has tightened up while I sat painting, towards the front door. As I pull open the front door lightening flashes in the sky and lights up my front stoop, I find it empty. Taking a tentative step out into the rain, I stretch my neck out and scan the walk that connects the houses in the victor's village. I find no one. Thunder cracks in the wind and the rain, which is coming down in swells, has me drenched in seconds. "Must just be the rain" I mutter giving the yard one final examination then retreat back into the house.

Closing the door I pause for a moment in the entryway and push my damp hair from eyes and for a long moment I stand there shivering in my wet clothes, hoping to hear the sound again, but the house is silent. Giving up, I head upstairs and quickly change my clothes then head back down to the studio. Coming to stand in front of my painting, the feelings of anxiety return as I look at and the last thing I want to do is confront what my subconscious is trying to tell me.

Sighing, I walk over to the window and look out at a clearing eastern sky. The dark heavy rain clouds have moved just far enough west that I can see the rising sun through the trees; it's an amazing display of pinks, purples, and oranges. Two memories surface as the orange in the sky brightens, this may not be a sunset, but the colors in the morning sky are close enough to pull free buried memories of the past.

Images flash in quick secession through my mind: sitting side by side on train tracks- the colors green and orange - walking hand in hand to the train - a dark night - a camp site - rope knotted in my hands - real - not real, and lastly, her face, her sad, somber face, pleading with me to remember her, to remember us. As the images replay over and over in my mind I feel my heart beginning to race, sweat begins to bead on my forehead and the muscles of my back tighten and begin to ache. These are the signs that I'm about to fall headlong into a hallucination. Gripping the window sill tightly, I take three deep breaths and force my mind and body to relax. It's a nearly insurmountable task, but only nearly. After a long few moments I feel my anxiety begin to ebb and though my body is trembling from the exertion, I manage to relax my iron grip on the marble window sill. Somehow I have once more avoided tumbling off the precipice into the deep darkness of the Capitol's making.

Letting out a slow breath, I pull myself upright, "It's time for a change of venue" I mutter. With one final glance at the painting, I walk out the room and straight into the kitchen where I know I can bury the last remnants of darkness in dough.


	3. Chapter 3

On the outset of this journey I was promised that I'd get the "best sleep of my life on a train", but as I lay here watching the crystal chandler above my bed sway to and fro, I can't help but suppress a laugh. Why I had hung any hope on the platitudes of Effie Trinket, is beyond me. After all, was she transporting children to their deaths when she was getting "the best sleep of her life", so maybe I should consider the source, I muse. All I'm certain of is that after an exhausted few days of work in the Capitol, a cross-country trek by luxury train had looked promising for some much needed R&R, especially considering the turbulent nature of my next assignment, but after two days on this damn contraption, I'm anything but relaxed and most defiantly not rested.

Sighing in frustration, I turn on my side and look out the window at the quickly passing landscape. In the light of the rising sun, I see that sometime during the night the vast farmlands that had occupied the view have given way to the slopes of mountains. The very site of the hillsides re-ignites the low-grade anxiety I've been harboring since I was given my orders last week.

Swallowing back the bile my nervous stomach pushes up the back of my throat, I try to change my train of thought by focusing, not for the first time, on the speech I've prepared for the assignment. My lips have just begun to silently forming the words of my over-rehearsed rhetoric when a knock on my cabin door mercifully interrupts the process. "Come in," I say, rising up on my elbows.

The door slides open and a man dressed in a crisply ironed maroon porters uniform, with hair and eyelids dyed to match, appears in my doorway. "Sorry for disturbing you so early Captain Hawthorn," the man apologizes in his clipped Capitol accent, "but we are about 45 minutes out from your stop," he states.

"Oh...okay. Thank you," I mutter. The porter nods an acknowledgment and disappears a click of the door.

Flopping back onto my pillow I yawn deeply and stretch my aching body. I need to get up, get a shower and maybe eat something, but I can't seem to will my limbs into action; instead, I simply lie here and watch the chandler swing in time with the sway of the train. The morning sun has crept its way across the car and the crystals are throwing colorful light around the room. My eyes go to the wall, where prism-ed light is crisp in contrast with the lush velvety printed wallpaper. The tiny rainbows seem out of place in here amongst the dark furniture and satin bed covers. Lifting one hand, I place fingers on the velvety tuft of the wallpaper as my other palm slides over my silky bed covers. A voice surfaces. A voice I've studiously been pushing from my mind since I boarded this damn train.

" _Yeah, a lot of things should count for something that doesn't seem to, Katniss. I've got some memories I can't make sense of, and I don't think the Capitol touched them. A lot of nights on the train, for instance."_

My logical mind reminds me that version of Peeta who spouted these words was still being heavily influenced by the high-jacking he suffered in the Capitol, but after days of denial, my imagination will not be denied.

I see her, Katniss, here in this very bed, her small frame covered in the satiny softness of the gray blanket I myself lay under. My minds-eye wanders up the outline of her body until I reach her dark hair, bed tossed and fanned out across her pillow and Peeta's chest. She's curled up on her side, her head resting in the crook of Peeta's neck, her nose press along his jaw.

I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes but I can't stop myself from imagining the man whose arms my mind sees her in.

I see him, his arm wrapped protectively around Katniss's small shoulders, his chin tenderly resting atop her head. The scene can only be described as pure contentment. Long dormant feelings of anger and jealousy suddenly grip my gut and I grind my hands even harder into my eyes.

"Ugh!" I growl, "This is the last thing I need to be thinking about right now!" I shout at the opulent room. Angerly, I fling the blanket to the side and sit up. Tossing my legs over the side of the bed. I take a few frustrated breaths and try desperately to shove the thoughts back into their locked box. "Damn train," I growl.

When the Rebels won the war all of the Capitol's assets were of course re-purposed including this very luxurious "Tribute" train. When I climbed aboard two days ago I had thought I had hit the jackpot, two whole days of wining and dining in luxury I've never known, but too soon bedtime came, as did my musings about the previous passengers who walked these halls. I have no way of knowing if this even the same train that came to Twelve to collect our tributes, but my overactive imagination didn't let that small detail stand in the way of my torture. As if on queue, Peeta's voice echoes in my head once again.

 _"I've got some memories I can't make sense of, and I don't think the Capitol touched them. A lot of nights on the train, for instance."_

I try to soothe myself with the knowledge that these words were spoken over a year ago and by someone who was at the very least unstable at the time. I've just about convinced myself of my contrived reality when my traitorous mind flashes an image of Katniss's face when Peeta said those words to her. I sigh. The look on her face in that moment is her reality. I knew then, as I do now. She hadn't bristled because what Peeta was saying was a lie, she was upset because he treads carelessly upon something important and precious to her. She snapped and ran away because her heart was breaking. I lied to myself about the truth of it all for months, then bombs fell and I locked everything about her way, refusing to face all my unsolved issues...that was until this trip and this damn train.

Grunting again, I run my hand through my hair in frustration and forcefully push the tumultuous thoughts away. I long for the peace I found in my resolved avoidance of this issue, but considering the nature of my next assignment, I need to acknowledge that complete avoidance will not be possible for a few days. I will just have to function around the feelings, not a pleasant thought, but I've done it before. Taking one last long breath, get to my feet.

Thirty minutes later I'm showered, dressed and standing in the back of the train as it pulls into the station.


	4. Chapter 4

Stuffing my cold and stiff fingers into the box in my hands, I clumsily pull out a long wood match and strike it against the river stones that make up the hearth of my kitchen fireplace. I touch the flame to the kindling I've piled in the back of the firebox and the dry timber catches fast. I quickly piling on a few logs and within a few minutes, the fire is crackling loudly. Scooting closer to the flames, I hold out my icy hands to the orange and yellow tongues licking at the logs. Thirty minutes of hiding in Peeta's bushes in the poring spring-rain had chilled me deep into my core, so much so, that in spite of dry clothes and the blazing fire I'm still shivering.

Rubbing my hands along my arms, I look to the rocker behind me for a light blanket I sometimes fold across the back. The blanket is missing but one of Peeta's sweaters lies in its spot. Reluctantly, I leave my preach on the hearth to retrieved the item and yank it over my head. The gray-blue wool falls loosely around my small frame, hanging off one shoulder and skirting over my hips to land around mid-thigh. Reaching a hand behind my head I pull the attached hood up to cover my still damp hair and catch the scent of dill and cinnamon, the smell of Peeta. The warmth of the sweater beings to thaw me but it's the smell of Peeta that helps me to begin to relax for the first time since my nightmare.

Taking up the fire poker, I move back the warmth of burning logs and gently begin arranging them. Satisfied, I replace the poker and take a seat on the hearth again, my knees tucked up against my chest, the sweater pulled over. I watch as sparks float carelessly up the flue and sigh. I'm finally warm and the sensation is making my drowsy. Chin on my knees, I'm close to drifting off when a muted mews followed by a persistent scrapping pulls me back to consciousness. My gaze goes to the window over the sink, just beyond the glass on the sill is Buttercup looking anxious and annoyed. Unfurling myself from myself from my perch, I curse softly as my bare feet hit the cold floor. Annoyed at my loss of warm comfort, I stomp over to the kitchen window and yank the window open. Unimpressed with my show of annoyance, Buttercup sits stone still on the sill, staring at me. I give the straggly cat a once one, over I notice he looks dry, save his feet and that I'm sure are just wet from walking in the grass.

"How are you so dry?" I grumble, his reply is an unblinking stare. A cool morning breeze stirs my hair and the kitchen curtains and I shiver. "Well, are you coming in or not?" I demand. He stares up at me for another second before deciding to take my invitation. He slowly saunters in and jumps silently to the floor. As I secure the window Buttercup, begins turning figure eights between my legs. "From distance and aloof to cute and cuddly in less than a second, you're a piece of work, you know that right?" I mutter stepping over him and heading in for the fridge. Taking some leftover fish out, I squat down and put the plate down in front of him. Buttercup cautiously sniffs my offering and looks up at me unimpressed. I laugh. "Really! This isn't good enough for you your highness?" I ask, giving the cat as scratch between the ears. "I suppose it's my own fault for feeding you bacon," I confess. "Well fuzz ball, Peeta isn't here, so no breakfast yet. It's this or you wait." We're staring at each other when a knock at the front door startles us both. I glance toward the front room and back down at the cat. "Who can that be," I ask him as if he might answer. Peeta, Haymitch, Greasy Sae and her granddaughter Annabeth, are my only regular visitors and they come and go as if they live here. I've not had a single visitor who would knock.

Standing up, I walk hesitantly towards the front door. My visitor knocks again. I hasten my approach and quickly pull open the door. When my eyes meet those of my guest, I stumble backward a few steps in shock.

"Good morning Katnip," Gale says smoothly.

I blink once, twice, three times; my mind racing. "What are you doing here?" I finally manage to whisper.

Unfazed, he smiles his easy smile at me, "Well it's a bit of story, could I maybe come in so we could talk about it?" he asks.

My mind is whirling with so many thoughts I'm frozen in the doorway, unable to reply.

Gale rubs the back of his neck and lowers his eyes to meet mine, "If we are going to do this on the front stoop, maybe you should get a coat, it's kind of cool out here this morning," he offers gently.

With his suggestion, I'm suddenly aware of cold wind nipping at my nose and fingertips. Pulling my hands further into the sleeves of Peeta sweater, I shake my head and take a step back. "Sorry," I mutter, "come in."

Gale steps in, closing the door behind him. For a long moment, we simply stare at each other, then when he does open his mouth to speak his first words are cut short with the sound of the back door opening and Peeta's easily identifiable footsteps in the kitchen. The look of annoyance that flashes across his face at the interruption immediately puts me on the defensive.

In the kitchen, I hear the refrigerator door open and items being moved around inside of it. "Katniss?" Peeta calls out casually.

"I'm in the living room," I manage to answer, my throat tight with tension.

"I brought you some cheese buns," he says, the smile on his face evident in his voice. "Oh and I had an idea for the dinner tonight," he says, the sounds of opening cabinets and drawers following him as he moves about the kitchen.

I answer automatically, "Whats that?", but I'm not comprehending the conversation, my mind is simply making circles trying to make sense out of Gale standing in my living room.

"I have a few oranges and I thought I might try and make that orange sauce we had on tour. I know this is turkey, not those little birds they used, but I don't think that should matter much. What do you think?" he asks.

Blinking my eyes a few times and my head begins to clear. "Peeta could you come in here please," I ask.

I hear Peeta making his way from the kitchen to the living room but his footfalls come to an abrupt stop a few feet behind me. Stealing a glance over my shoulder, I find him standing in the kitchen doorway with a look on his face that makes my stomach tighten. With his jaw set and his eyes hard, he is successfully managing to look angry and unimpressed at the same time. It's a look I know all too well, as I was on the receiving end of it a number of times during the height of his hatred for me. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and hold my breath in anticipation but the look quickly falls away and is replaced with an eerily calm one. With slow deliberate steps, Peeta leaves the doorway and makes his way over to stand next to me.

Foregoing any social pleasantries, Peeta gets right to the point. "What are you doing here?" he demands.

The irritation I saw on Gale's face moments ago is now gone, replaced with careful neutrality. "Peeta" he greets with a nod of his head.

Peeta doesn't return the gesture, instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and looks at Gale expectantly.

Looking from myself to Peeta and back again, Gale's shoulders fall a bit and he sighs. "I'm here because you don't read your mail," he says plainly. "The Capitol has sent a number of certified letters to both of you and Haymitch over the past few months... you did receive them, right?"

Peeta and I glance at each other, and I swear I see one corner of his mouth lift in a smirk and I have to bite back a smile threatening spill onto my lips. We did get Capitol letters, at least a dozen of them between the three of us. We got them and then really enjoyed burning them, unopened, one by one.

"We get a lot a mail, we rarely look at any of it," I lie.

Gale raises an eyebrow at my fib, he, of course, knows me well enough to know when I'm lying, but he chooses not to call me out on it, instead he just sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "Yeah, kind of figured it was something like that," he says under his breath. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Gale fidgets uncomfortably for a second before turning to Peeta, "Look, Peeta, I...I was really hoping I could talk to Katniss alone about...about why I'm here, do you think you could..um.. give us some space?" he stammers.

Peeta's head tilts a bit to the side as if considering the request, but after a moment he responds by simply sliding a few inches closer to me.

Gale's face flushes in irritation at Peeta casual denial and he looks to me, silently asking me to step in and tell Peeta to leave, but there is no way that's going to happen. Pulling myself up to my full height, I give my head a small shake in response to his unspoken request. "You said the Capitol's been sending letters Peeta and me, if that's the case then there's no reason Peeta shouldn't be here to hear what you have to say," I say evenly.

Sighing loudly he throws up his hands, "Fine!" he exclaims, "but the letters went to all the victors of District Twelve so should we take this party over to Haymitch's?" he asks, his subtle sarcasm not wasted on me.

Peeta, unfazed by the flippant reply, easily redirects the conversation. "I just came from Haymitch's, his out cold and won't be up for hours, but no worries Gale, Katniss and I can fill him in if the situation warrants it," he says smoothly. I glance over at him and smile inwardly. Peeta has many gifts of course, but his ability to adapt to nearly any conversation and his way with words has always impressed me.

Gale scoffs. "Still a sloppy drunk hu? I thought his time in thirteen dried him out."

Peeta's calm demeanor falters a bit and he bristles and I spot another of his gifts coming through: loyalty. Haymitch may be a drunk but he's our drunk and Peeta will not allow others to pass judgment against him. "He's surviving the best way he knows how," Peeta says his voice low in warning.

"I don't see you and Katniss drinking yourselves to unconsciousness," Gale fires back.

This time, it's me who jumps to Haymitch's defense. "Gale, don't" I warn,"You have no idea what you're talking about."

Outnumbered by two annoyed victors, Gale backs off. Putting his hands up in surrender he manages to look somewhat contrite. "Alright, look... I'm sorry. Believe me, when I say I didn't come all the way here to fight with the two of you," he says.

"Why don't you just get to the point of your visit then," Peeta suggests.

Gale simply nods, and I can see that he is collecting his thoughts. After a good ten seconds, he finally starts. "I've been sent by President Paylor to request your attendance a first annual District Gathering in June," he says, the words clearly rehearsed.

"District Gathering? What is that?" Peeta asks.

Gale seems to waiver at this question and suddenly I feel uneasiness coming off of him in waves. Peeta must feel it too because he takes another half-step closer to me. "It's what it sounds like, a gathering of the Districts, of their leaders...and the remaining victors. President Paylor wants to officially form a council from the district leaders and victors to discuss the issues facing the districts individually and the country as a whole. She believes that each district should have a say in how issues are resolved." he states passionately.

"And?" Peeta asks, clearly expecting the catch to this whole scenario.

"And they want the Mockingjay there," Gales says resolutely.

I feel my eyes widen and my heart begins to pound hard in my chest, but before I can react Peeta is standing directly in front of me, his body tense. "What? NO!" he growls between his teeth. I can't see his face, but I can see by the look in Gale's that he thinks Peeta is about to have an episode, but that isn't what's happening; Peeta is just in protection mode. My mind is spinning, and the questions are lining up in my head making me lightheaded. Be the Mockingjay again? No, I couldn't. I promised myself once that I would kill myself before I would let them make me that again... but... I was a year ago...I was definitely in a different emotional place then and...and it isn't just anyone asking me for this, it's President Paylor. My mind immediately flashes back to the day I stumbled upon Snow's prison cell. I can still hear her words, "She has a right to everything behind that door". She trusted me not only with Snow, and the truth he could give me about Prim's death but in all honesty with the fate of our countries future, after all, it was the conversation that made me assassinate Coin, made me see that she would only ever be just another Snow. Paylor had trusted me, not just as the Mockingjay, but as me, Katniss Everdeen. That alone makes me hesitate. My conflicting thoughts tumble together and I feel like I might faint, but when I see Peeta's hands go into fists, I snap immediately into the present and instinctively I reach over and place my hand on his forearm. For a split second I tense at the contact but when I feel no shift in his mood at my touch, I let my hand drift down until it encircles his wrist. "It's okay," I manage to say to in a low voice. He turns head and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "I'm okay," I promise, giving his wrist a reassuring squeeze before dropping my hand to my side. He holds my gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching mine and when he's satisfied I see the muscles in his neck relax and his fists loosen. I let out a little sigh of relief.

"After everything that happened with Coin why would they even want her there, let alone as the Mockingjay?" Peeta demands.

"She may not be popular with some folks in thirteen, but most of the people in the districts don't feel the same way about what she did," Gale states. "I guess Coin wasn't completely wrong to worry about the power she has as the Mockingjay," he says evenly.

I can see Peeta body tensing up again. "Coin knew the power Katniss had before she saved her from the arena and never intended on keeping her alive once the war was won. Power corrupts. Coin, Snow, it doesn't matter, they both used her to serve their own interests. So tell me Gale, how are President Paylor's plans any different?"

Gale's eyes narrow and flash in anger and I know Peeta has struck a nerve. In a show of unity, and to hopefully keep this confrontation from coming to blows, I step out from behind Peeta and move to stand at his side.

"I'm not blind to who President Coin was... though in all honesty, I couldn't see it at the time," Gale says honestly, "but in spite of her, the victory is won. Now as citizens of the new Panem have the responsibility to help bring this new government up from its infancy, to make it into the Panem we fought for!" He says his voice rising, but not in the anger of moments before, but instead in the passion, I saw so many times during the uprising.

Turning his eyes square on me, he continues his appeal. "Katniss, I know the idea of being the Mockingjay again is probably the last thing you want to do..."

Peeta interrupts with a loud groan and roll of his eyes. I catch his gaze and hold it for a second, "Peeta, let him say what he came so far to say," I appeal softly. He still looks worried, but he nods his head at me in agreement.

Gail continues, "The truth is things between the Capitol and the districts aren't falling into place as smoothly as everyone had hoped they would," he confesses. "There are a number of issues that are fueling the unrest and this District Gathering is the President's hope to bring everyone to the table to not only discuss them but to get solutions, she calls it "cooperative government". She does, however, worry about how receptive people will be to this new concept. After so many years under Snow's thumb, she's concerned that it may be difficult for some to trust the process." he explains. "Katniss, from the beginning the symbol of the Mockingjay has given people the courage to stand up and fight for their rights, their freedoms. President Paylor believes that you are capable of being that example again and help encourage these new leaders to work together towards the future of our new Panem. The Mockingjay and the victors," he says, pausing to make eye contact with Peeta, before continuing, "are after all perfect symbols of what we fought so hard for, the sacrifices that were made in war. I would think the two of you would be able to relate to that, with all the sacrifice you have had to make." he finishes quietly.

I feel Peeta tense next to me. "Don't," he warns. "Don't pretend to know about the sacrifices we've had to live with."

The tension in the room is almost tangible. "Gale," I say, stopping the words I see forming on his mouth, "this is asking a lot, and not just of me. Going to the Capitol for any reason is...complicated for us. We are going to need to bring this to Haymitch, so we can..." Gale interrupts me before I've finished with my thoughts, "Katniss, it's nice of you to want to consider everyone's feelings, but who are we kidding, this decision is yours to make. You're the Mockingjay! If you say yes you know they will back you!"

My anger flashes instantly. "What? You really think I would do that? And after you just gave me a speech about how the Mockingjay AND the victors are needed...was that a lie?" I demand.

"Of course not! I'm just saying that...that..." he stutters groping for words, "Oh come on Katniss, Haymitch is a drunk! I can see how Peeta's opinion should be weighed, but Haymitch?" he finally spits out. "Honestly, Katniss, while Haymitch's presence would be appreciated, I certainly don't think it's necessary since he'll probably be falling down drunk the whole time!"

My mouth falls open in surprise and anger bubbles up in my chest. Closing the distance between us, I come to stand close enough to Gale that I have to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. "Haymitch has spent 25 years in hell as a mentor Gale! He drinks to forget but guess what, it's never enough, it never can be enough because that kind of horror becomes a part of who you are. He'll never get away from it or find a bottle deep enough to completely erase the memory of watching all those kids die and not being able to stop it. So, I ask you, if he finds even the slightest amount of relief from being wasted who are we to deny him that?" I demand. Gale looks like he wants to speak but he thinks better of it, so I continue my voice rising as I do. "I will also remind you that this _peace_ our new government is working so hard to hold together, Haymitch helped make possible. If it weren't for him and the other rebels who helped laid the foundation of the revolution right under the Capitol's noses, there wouldn't have been war. No freedom. No 'district gatherings.'" I spit out on the brink of fury. Taking a shaky breath I work hard to calm myself before continuing, "Let me be very clear about this," I say, "IF I agree to do this, it will only be because ALL of us have agreed to it." My hands are shaking from the rush of adrenal my anger triggered, but having said my peace, I can feel myself coming down from the high and as my body begins to relax I feel an ache at the base of my neck from looking up at Gale so I take a few steps back to rejoin Peeta.

Gale's missteps regarding Haymitch have has clearly thrown his plans to woo us to the conference and he now seems at a loss. He takes a calming breath before continuing, "Damn, I suck at this," he mumbles, "I told them I would. Even asked for them to send someone else, but as you know when you are in the military you don't get to pick and choose which orders you will follow...especially when they come directly from the President," he says with a sigh. "But, in spite of my inadequacies, I still have a job to do. It's simple really, I need a response to forward back to the Capitol. A simple yes or no, I can't leave without," he states matter of factly.

The room becomes awkwardly silent, as the words and thoughts of the morning lay bare before us. It's Peeta who brakes the stalemate. "We are going to need time to discuss this," he says curtly.

Gale nods in reluctant agreement. "My train doesn't leave until 10 tonight, I just need a response by then. I will be in town having meetings and doing inspections this afternoon, you can get a hold of me at the Justice Building once you have made your decision," he says.

"Well, I guess we should rouse Haymitch then," Peeta says, clearly indicating that the conversation has come to an end and Gale should take his leave.

Gale takes the hint and turns for the door but pauses when his hand lands on the knob. "Thank you for giving this request serious consideration and for not dismissing it offhand," he says softly. Then without another word, he pulls open the door and disappears out into the morning beyond.


	5. Chapter 5

Peeta POV

As the front door bangs closed, Katniss and I stand rooted to the floor in the living room staring at the closed door. "So," I draw out, "...Gale."

"Yeah, Gale." She returns softly.

Peaking at her out of the corner of my eye, I do a quick examination and try to determine what might be going on in her head. The combination of Gale's sudden appearance, Katniss's unresolved issues with him, and the news that the Capitol wants to pull the Mockingjay out of mothballs has me worried. This is the kind of thing that could throw her back months in her healing processes. Over the past 6 months I've six or so months she has been making small but incremental steps in her grieving process, seeing her set back by this would be devastating. Not only for her but for me as well. It's selfish to think of myself I know, but it's true. Moving my weight from one leg to the other, I fidget as my thoughts spiral down the rabbit hole of my memories until it lands on the day I planted the primroses. The image I conjure up is of her standing in the yard, sun highlighting her unwashed, hair matted and the look of unyielding, deep, piercing agony in her eyes. A shiver runs down my spine. _I_ can't bear the thought of her going back to that broken person, watching her suffer like that again would defiantly break me.

As the clock on fireplace mantle begins to toll out the hour with its soft chimes, I'm pulled back into the present. Shoving the tortured image to the back of my mind and I focus on the best way to acknowledge the elephant in the room. After a couple of false starts, I finally decided to begin with the loudest of thought tumbling around my head.

"Katniss, you don't have to do this you know. You would be totally justified in telling them all to go to hell." I offer gently.

This brings her gray eyes to mine. "We," she says.

"We?"

"Yes, we. I meant what I said to Gale. I won't do this without you and Haymitch being on board."

I start shaking my head at her, "Katniss..."

"The Mockingjay isn't just about me. You and Haymitch...you'll be under just as much scrutiny as me if we go to the Capitol. If we can't agree as a team then I won't be going," she says resolutely.

I'm astonished by her answer. I thought for sure the very idea of returning would at the very least disgust her, at the worst cause her to revert back to staring silently at the fireplace for days at a time, so the fact that she seems to open to it blows my mind. "Do you... want... to do it?" I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

She shrugs her shoulders and lets out a long breath. "Want to? No," she admits rubbing her hands over her eyes. "What I can't decide is if it's the right thing to do."

I tilt my head and look closely at her, she seems a little unsettled, but not frantic. Her calm uncanny the face of what we have learned. "I think we should go get Haymitch before getting too deep into this then," I suggest. She nods in agreement. "I can go get him if you'd like," I offer, my voice still

"Okay, thank you. I'll...start some breakfast," she says. Turning on her heels she disappears down the hall.

After a beat, I shake the surprise from my continence then I follow her into the warm kitchen where I find her at the table. In front of her are the eggs and a large bowl that I had pulled out for breakfast when I first arrived this morning. Taking an egg in hand she attempts to crack it along the rim of the bowl but the long sleeve of her sweater falls to cover her hand. She blows out a little sound of irritation and mindlessly pushes it up her arm to her elbow. I'm biting back a smile when it suddenly occurs to me that the sweater she is wearing is mine. _When did she take that?_ I wonder. The sleeve inches back down her arm and slides once again over her hand. She grunts and shoves at it, almost dropping an egg. A low chuckle escapes my throat and I try to disguise it with a cough.

Her head snaps up and she pins me with a frustrated glare. "They're just eggs Peeta! I CAN make scrambled eggs," she says defiantly.

This turns my chuckle into an all-out laugh. Over the past year, Haymitch and I have come to a consensus that while Katniss has many talents, none of them can be found in the kitchen. This one small inadequacy seems to irritate her deeply, so of course, Haymitch goes out of his way to find ways to needle her about it regularly.

She bristles at my laughter, "Do you want to do it?" she hisses, holding the egg out to me in a sweater covered hand.

I bite back my laughter and walk over to the table. "I'm sure you're completely capable of making scrambled eggs Katniss." Reaching over the table, I take the opening of the sleeve from where it lies around her knuckles and give it a few quick turns until it's cuffed a couple of inches above her wrist. Then reaching over and do the same thing to the other. "You know, I'm thinking it might be easier for you to work in one of my tee shirts instead of this," I say offhandedly. As the implication of my words meets my ears I feel heat rush to my face. "I mean, something without long sleeves...ya know...so they don't get in the way," I stammer awkwardly. _You are an idiot_ ", I think to myself. Gathering my courage I venture a glance up at her, I'm surprised when I find her looking at me shyly.

"I found it on the back of the rocker this morning...I was cold...it looked warm…" she trails off in way of explanation. "I'm warm now though, you can have it back," she adds quickly and moves as to take the garment off.

My stomach tightens as if she has rejected a gift, a preposterous thought as she has absconded it of her own free will. All the same, the last thing I want is for her to give it back. I shake my head and move quickly around the table to the door. "No, no...you don't have to do that...it's okay," I stammer, hastily pulling open the door. I'm just about to step outside when words continue to leave my mouth without my permission, "You look good in it, you should keep it." As the words fall from my lips I freeze, still as a statue, in the door frame. _Why, oh why, did I say that_! I berate myself. _Am I bent on making things weird between us?_ I hazard a glance at her, sure that I will find her stripping the garment from her back, but she hasn't moved. Instead, to my utter surprise, find a look of relief on her face.

She reaches for another egg and simply offer me a soft, "Thanks," before she begins cracking the egg against the side of the bowl.

I'm stunned. Katniss rarely takes something without a fair trade in hand, so I'm not sure how to react. Perhaps it's just the shock of the morning and tomorrow I will find the gift folded neatly on my front stoop, but regardless something has shifted between us. I grapple with a rush of thoughts as I blindly make my way through the door.

"Be back soon," I manage to get out before pulling the door closed behind me.

As I make my way across the damp grass for the second time this morning my mind spins trying to piece together the feeling that something has somehow shifted for us this morning.

Katniss's and I's relationship is a bit like springtime in mountains that surround us, slow and a little unpredictable but advancing everyday none the less. For those looking in on us on any given day, the changes might not even be perceivable, but a review of the last year clearly shows an evolution.

We have gone from being barely acquittances to a one-sided love affair, to district partners, to faux fiancés, to Capitol created enemies, but we've never been friends, not really. Back before the games and before the war, most of our interactions were right down awkward, colored by her discomfort of my infatuation of her and the pressures of satisfying Snow in order to save those we loved and ourselves. It's hard to develop a real friendship amidst that kind of chaos. I'm not saying that didn't care for each other, the willingness to die for another person shows a connection. For me back then it was blind love. For her…well, I guess I don't really know, not for sure, but I've always assumed it was her belief that she somehow owed me something. The last year has changed that though. Surprisingly the changes that matter came in the small things, not the big ones. It started with the silent mornings I sat with her as she stared blankly into the fire, then in the countless meals spent in silence, to the weeding of our garden together and the nights spent creating the memory book…and finally in the small acceptance of a trivial gift. We are, for the first time more than a connection forged in the crucible of the games or nights on a train in a comforting embrace; _we are_ …"Real friends," I mutter aloud. The thought is a bit a jolt, but I can't help but laugh. "It's about time," I snort.

Still chucking, I drop down onto Haymitch's steps and gaze up at the bright blue sky. My heart is lighter than it's been in months, which is a juxtaposition to the events of the morning. The two thoughts war for a moment, but when the word "friends," fall from my smiling lips, I know that in spite of Gale and his news, this revelation will be what wins the day. A loud honk startles me from my reverie, and I look down to find a gray monster of a goose at my feet. I quirk up an eyebrow at the beast. "How'd you get out?" I ask, looking into one of its beady eyes. The goose shakes its tail at me then leans down to pecking at one of my boots. Pushing off the steps, I mindless make my way over to the shed and the haphazard pen Haymitch has constructed to shelter his recently found pets. As I approach the birds, who have not escaped, begin honking and flapping their wings in anticipate of breakfast. I'm entering the shed when I hear Haymitch's back door open and his heavy footsteps on the porch.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he growls.

Grabbing the feed bucket, I step out onto the grass. "Well I was going to feed your geese, but…" I say holding the empty feed pail upside down to show the state I found it in.

"You're waking the whole damn neighborhood," he grumbles.

I shake my head ruefully at him, "First of all, Katniss and I are the neighborhood and we're always up at this time. Second of all, these are YOUR geese I'm attempting to ensure do not starve to death, so say thank you. Lastly, it's normally it takes an act of god or Effie Trinket to get you up before noon, are you out of liquor again?" I ask.

Haymitch huffs and snatches the bucket from my hand. "Goose feed should be on today's train. I've been given 'em vegetables until it gets here," he grouses, tossing the bucket into the shed and slamming the door. I step back and hid a smile. As hard as he wants to pretend to be, he really does seem to like these damn bird.

I clear my throat, "So…I was on my way over to wake you anyway…" I start.

Haymitch eyes me out of the corner of his eye as he wrangles the self-freed bird back into the pen.

"We had a surprise visitor this morning," I tell him.

He nods and bends down to reattach a length of chicken wire that has come loose from a stump. "Yep, I heard," he mumbles, twisting the thin wire around a rusty nail.

I shake my head, "What?...I mean how?" I ask, confused.

"It was the phone that woke me this morning," he says straightening up.

"Really?" I ask, "Who was it and what did they tell you?"

"Effie called to tell me to expect a visit from Captain District 12 today," explains.

This causes a smile to pull at my lips. _An act of god or Effie Trinket, can I call it or what?_ I muse. but I quickly hide it by turning to look at the birds. "Did she tell you why he was coming?" I ask, managing to keep the smile out of my tone.

He shakes his head, "She was persistent that it be a _surprise_. I reminded her that calling me to tell me to expect a surprise kinda ruined the whole surprise factor, but she wouldn't give in," he says.

"Well, it's a doozy," I say turning to face him. "They want us in the Capitol in a month, Mockingjay in tow," I tell him, the words souring my mood and making my feelings of moments ago seem frivolous.

Haymitch nods solemnly. "Based on the high pitch whine in her voice I was guessin' it was something like that. How's sweetheart handlin' the news?"

I shrug, "She didn't go running from the room in a fit of panic if that's what you're asking?"

"That's not all I'm askin'," he says, turning and heading off across the yard towards Katniss house. We walk a few steps in silence, before he asks, "Did the Captain cause a scene?" He asks, pausing at the bottom of the back steps.

I shake my head, "No. He doesn't like me…and he hates you, but no, he was…" I pause, looking for the right word, "professional with her," I finally say.

He considers my answer for a long moment before sighing and turning for the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, first off, thank you to all of you who have followed, commented or favorited this story...YOU GUYS ROCK! Secondly, sorry this took me SOOOOO long to update. This chapter was like wrestling a bear. Lots of thoughts and feelings and Haymitch :) to deal with, so much so this chapter is a whopping 6,635 words long (not including this entry). Future chapters I think will end up being much shorter.**

 **Although AU, I am trying very hard keep these characters true to how I interpreted them in the books. If you have any thoughts or suggests, please let me know.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games they are Suzanne Collins creation, I just like to take her characters out of the box and play with them one and awhile :)**

 **And without further ado, happy reading :**

Katniss POV:

Taking the last piece of bacon from the butcher paper on the counter, I turn and drop it gingerly into the cast iron skillet on the stove. As the meat meets the hot surface of the pan I'm rewarded with a satisfying snap and pop. Bending down, I take a quick peek at the height of my cooking flame and decide to lower it a little. Taking a set of tongs from the canister on the shelf next to the stove I begin poking at the sizzling strips and letting my mind drift over the events of my morning.

Gale. Gale is in twelve...he was in my house only a half an hour ago. This event amongst all the others that have transpired this morning is on its own a lot for me grasp. Before this morning, I haven't laid eyes on Gale since the morning of what was supposed to be Snow's execution. I've heard over months that he as been on television a few times, but I never watched. I'd thought about watching, wondering if seeing his image would help curb the questions that float through my head whenever I hear his name: How is he? What is he doing? Has he moved on from the day of the bombs, the day that took Prim from the world? No, I had decided seeing him on TV was not going to help me answer my questions, too many words were unsaid and too many of the answers I seek he can not give to me. I chose instead to put our relationship into a box and shoved it into the dusty recesses of my mind. Occasionally I'd trip over it while in the woods or as I walking past the place the Hob had once stood, but I never stop and never take the lid off, I just keep moving forward. Up until today, I believed that my method of moving on was working too, but he's reappearance in my life has made it clear that I was wrong. With my dusty box of memories now upturned and strewn across the floor of my mind and know I can't side step them any longer. Silently I try to exam each one, but they all seem to blend together; hunting in the woods, eating at the Hob, laughing, battles fought together in the revolution, kisses, hateful words...bombs, so many, many memories. My mind beings to swim as they all make laps around my consciousness and mix with Gails words ,"And they want the Mockingjay there." I feel my hands start to shake and my heart begin to race.

The tongs fall from my hand and I blindly reach forward to place my hands on the warm stove, one on each side of the sizzling pan. I don't know how long I stand here staring down into the pan, only that the next thing I register is Peeta calling out to me in a concerned voice, "Katniss, Katniss, are you alright?" he pleads.

My head snaps up and I find Peeta and a ragged looking Haymitch standing to my right, concern on both of their faces. I absently nod my head at them. "Yes...yes...I think so," I manage to get out.

Haymitch shakes his head at me, "Yeah, you look just peachy," he quips, clearly not unconvinced. "Take her over and sit her down boy," he says giving Peeta's shoulder a gentle push. Peeta does as directed. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he leads me over and deposits me in the kitchen chair closest to the stove then goes to the faucet to fill a glass with water.

Meanwhile, Haymitch has retrieved my tongs and is digging around in the frying pan, "Sweetheart, why would you do this bacon? What did it ever do to you?" he asks, scrapping at what I can only assume is burned breakfast meat. I shrug numbly, normally this would rile me but not today, no today I have too many other issues fighting for my attention.

Squatting down in front of me, Peeta hands me the glass of water. With a look into his gentle blue eyes, I feel my heart rate start to return to normal. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah,"Just, a bit overwhelmed is all," I offer.

Peeta gives me a look that says he's not buying my explanation, but he just sighs and shakes his head at me. "Drink your water," he says he says with a little grin before straightening up and going to the cabinet for dishes.

Haymitch crosses to the table and unceremoniously drops a plate of overly crisp bacon to the surface. "The cat only gets the burned bits," he grumbles giving me a half-hearted glare. Turning on unsteady feet, he retrieves the bowl of scrambled eggs I left warming in the oven and the pot of coffee I brewed from the stove top and puts them on the table as well. Plopping down into the chair across from me, he starts piling eggs on to a plate,"So," he drawls, "I Heard tall, dark and brooding managed to find his way back home this morning."

"I don't think he considers 12 his home anymore," I grunt back quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, semantics." Haymitch dismisses with a wave of his fork.

Joining Haymitch on the opposite side of the table from me, Peeta fills his plate, then scoops a spoonful of eggs on to mine. "Eat something" Peeta instructs,handing me a fork. I take it and begin poking at my eggs with the tines.

Reaching across the table Haymitch picks of the coffee pot and quickly fills the mug in front of him. Taking a careful sip, he looks over the brim of the cup at me for a long minute, "So..." he sighs, "Paylor's bring democracy back into style huh? Can't say I'm surprised,'" he says taking another sip from his cup.

Peeta who has been quietly picking at his breakfast finally speaks up, "Yeah, and they want to use the Mockingjay as the figurehead of their movement. Hum...sounds familiar to me..." Peeta says feigning a thoughtful look, then continues, "Oh that's right, they did that already and called her the leader of the rebellion!" Peeta nearly shouts tossing his fork down on the table.

"You're surprised, by this?" Haymitch asks Peeta.

Peeta's eyes narrow, "You aren't?"

Haymitch laughs and reaches for a piece of bacon. "No, I'm not" he chuckles, shaking his head. "I will say it's sooner than I thought it would be. I figured it would take a least a couple of years before some folks would get over the whole 'killing of the rebel leader' thing, and I certainly never expected they'd send the ex to do the convincing, but I figured they would come looking for her some day," he states.

Peeta tilts his head to the side in consideration. "Because...she doesn't know...the effect she can have," he says slowly. Suddenly his eyes snap up to Haymitch's "I said this to you in the first games? Real or not real?" he asks, his voice urgent.

Peeta's words bring me back first to a breakfast table in the Capitol during training and then to a memory that is so clear I can almost smell the mildew of Tigress's dank cellar. When I go to speak my voice is joined with Haymitch's, "Real," we say in unison.

Peeta looks across the table at me and as my eye's lock with his I see a look of relief mixed with exhilaration cross his face, this is the look that often accompanies the recovery of a real memory. In spite of the anxiety of the morning, I can't help but smile a little. I'm alway happy moment when he wins even the smallest battle against what Snow did to him.

Haymitch clears his throat loudly. "If you two are done making eyes at each other, we have Capitol business to discuss," he quips, refilling his mug.

Peeta rolls his eyes at Haymitch. "So you think she should do it then, go be the Mockingjay again?" Peeta asks ignoring the "making eyes at each other" comment altogether.

Haymitch shrugs, "I didn't say that. I said I just knew they would come looking for her someday. Guess someday is today," he mumbles.

My irritation has begun to grow at their self-contained banter, so I finally I speak up, "If it's not too much trouble, could you please stop talking about me like I'm not in the room?" I demand.

Peeta's face falls a bit at my outburst, but a usual Haymitch is unaffected. "You're right Katniss, sorry about that," Peeta apologizes.

"So what's it gonna be Mockingjay? Are we packing for the Capitol or sending the ex-boyfriend back with a "fuck you" for President Paylor?" Haymitch asks.

"First of all, stop calling him that, Gale is not my ex-anything," I growl at Haymitch in frustration, "and second of all please do not put this whole decision on me! Going back there, being...being the Mockingjay again is a difficult enough decision as it is. I need the two of you to decide for yourselves if you can handle going back. Please...please don't make me choose for you," I plead, as the tears I've been withholding all morning begin falling from my eyes.

Peeta buries his face in his hands at my tears.

Haymitch sighs and takes a long drink from his coffee before speaking again "Do you want to go Katniss?" he asks. I know by the simple fact he used my first name that he is no longer joking around, that he truly wants to hear my thoughts.

I swipe at my tears and try to compose myself and my thoughts. "Well, I guess, I'm leaning towards yes," I say honestly but with a waiver in my voice. "I don't want to go, I want to leave the Mockingjay buried in the past, but...but at the same time, I think if I don't go and things fall apart, then the deaths of all those people...all the people we loved who died will have been wasted. So if I have to pick between being the Mockingjay or failing the memory of...of Prim," I choke out, "I choose the Mockingjay," I cry, my tears flowing free again.

Haymitch noisily pushes away from the table and comes around to my chair. Reaching down he easily gathers me up into a warm embrace. I'm startled by his actions, after all, shows of emotion that aren't buried in sarcasm are out of character for him, but go to him willingly. Tucking my head under his chin and pressing my ear to the spot just over his heart and weep, drenching the front of his shirt. "I'm with the Mockingjay," Haymitch whispers gently into my hair. The simple statement brings fresh tears to my eyes.

Without pulling away from the warm hold Haymitch has on me, I manage to glance over at Peeta, who has lowered his hands and is watching us intently. When our eyes meet, I see understanding in them. With a deep breath, he nods his head silently at me and I have his answer. I sniff, and swallow hard, "Are you sure?" I croak out.

Peeta's lips form a small sad smile, "Katniss, the Capitol isn't where my demon's live," he says softly, which only renews my tears. He continues,"I go where you go. After all, we protect each other right?"

This makes me smile through my tears, "Yeah, that's what you and I do," I say in return. Peeta's sad smile turns genuine at my remark.

After a few seconds, my tears start to subside and Haymitch pulls me away from his chest but keeps his hands locked on my upper arms. Dropping his head, he levels his gray Seam eyes with mine, "Katniss, this time, can be different than before, you know that right?" he asks.

I look at him a bit confused, "What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean that you have all the power here, you can set your own rules around this thing," he answers.

"Like with Coin? Really? Because that went SO well?" I ask unconvinced of his logic.

Haymitch rolls his eyes at me, "Wait, what part of your list of demands didn't you get in that situation? he asks, his eyes flicking to Peeta. "Yeah she tried to have you killed later, but the actual list of demands, did she deliver?" He asks. I think about it for a second and begin to see what he means and my mind begins to whirl with the possibilities. "So I can put conditions on my involvement," I say more to myself than to Haymitch.

"I'm saying that you need to be clear about what you will and won't do before you get there," Haymitch says. "I think Paylor is a fair woman, but she's still a politician and will try to get all she can from this situation. If you lay out the parameters before you get there, you won't be forced into situations you'd rather not be in," he explains.

"He's right Katniss," Peeta agrees when I don't respond right way. "You should put something in writing, send it with Gale, and then require a written confirmation of your conditions."

Extracting myself from Haymitch's grip, I go to the small desk that holds my phone to grab a notepad and pencil. "We all have a say, the list isn't just for me," I state taking my seat again.

Haymitch takes my lead and returns to his chair. "Great idea, sweetheart," he says, the tenderness he showed only minutes before disappearing to make way for the more surly persona I've grown to know and love. "Me, I'm a simple creature," he says poking at his eggs with a fork, "A fully stocked bar and a never-ending supply of ice and I should be set," he says shoveling eggs into his mouth.

I roll my eyes at him and look to Peeta who has his chair tilted back on two legs and is looking at me expectantly.

"You want me to go first?" I ask rhetorically.

Dropping the front legs of the chair back to the ground, Peeta reaches across the table and takes the pad and pencil from me. "I'll take notes," he says, giving me a wink. This gesture mixed with his easy smile help me to ratchet down my anxiety to a tolerable level.

"Fine," I mumble. Looking up at the ceiling I let my mind wander over the possibilities. "The first thing that comes to mind is no propos. I mean, I know I can't stop cameras from filming me when I'm in public, but I don't want to be forced into doing propos or staged interviews. If they want sound bites they are going to have to hope the catch them as they come out of my mouth in public." I say but then after a moment of consideration I continue with, "Also, since cameras will inevitably be at the meeting and I'm sure every other function we attend, I want Cressida and Pollux to lead the teams that will be closest to me. I'll be less nervous around them since I know them already." I state.

Haymitch slaps the table in amusement. "Plutarch's going to have kittens!" he laughs. "Ah, I just wish I could be there when they tell him."

I give Haymitch an unconcerned shrug and move on to the next item on my agenda, "I want Effie as our Capitol liaison." I say quickly, then pause for Haymitch and Peeta's reaction.

"Ah, you're going with the "devil you know" mentality. I can see the advantage in that. And as much as that woman drives me to drink...well...drink more, she does have a knack of keeping you two on a schedule," Haymitch says.

"And Effie's used to the challenges you bring to...well everything," Peeta says his eyebrows raised in amusement.

Haymitch waves him off and looks at me. "What else Mockingjay?" he asks.

I find butterflies nervously making laps in my stomach at the next item that I have in mind. "I...I don't want them to...to..." I stammer searching for words that won't sting. " I don't want them referring to me...I mean us," I say, hesitantly looking up into Peeta's eyes, "as the star-crossed lovers," I finally get out. To Peeta's credit, if he is upset by my proclamation he doesn't show it, the only thing I see in his face is kindness and support.

Haymitch, however, lets out a deep belly laugh. "You can't unring a bell Sweetheart!" he guffaws.

"I'm not planning on making a public declaration that the whole relationship thing was a sham or anything Haymitch," I grumble. Immediately I regret my choice of words when I see Peeta's face flinch ever so slightly. The flash of hurt I see turns in the pit of my stomach souring my breakfast. Time and many other things have happened to us both since we were reaped nearly 3 years ago, but the lies I told during that first game still seem to sting him. I begin to wonder if what Snow did to him made it worse, but quickly realize that regardless of what the highjacking has done, I still hold the fault. It is my lies they used to build Peeta's personal prison.

Swallowing down a bit of bile, I attempt to lessen the sharpness of my words, "I just feel like they should stay out of our personal lives. If they want to know my feelings about supply issues or wages for the construction crews or what I think we should do about local elections, I'll be happy to give my opinion, but my personal relationship with Peeta is just that...personal." I say my voice catching around the last word.

When I dare a glance back in Peeta's direction, but find his head down and his hand working to pen my request on the sheet of paper. I swallow down my guilt and clear my throat. "What about you," I softly ask. When he glances up, a blonde curl falls across his forehead into his eyes and for second I see a flash of the boy I was reaped with and my words and old lies turn my stomach and I feel bile rise up the back of my throat. He must see the turmoil on my face because his brow furrows a bit. He gives his head a nearly imperceivable shake and locks his very blue eyes with mine. Without a word he tells me with one gaze that he does not hold my words or the lies of long ago against me. I wish I could say that the only feeling I have is one of relief, but there is something more there, a feeling can't identify. The encounter over the sweater this morning passes through my mind, but it ends quickly when Haymitch obnoxiously clears his throat pulling Peeta and me from our silent exchange.

"Yeah, you'll be able to play down the whole relationship thing, no problem," he says sarcastically.

If I could shoot daggers with my eyes Haymitch would be dead right now. He enjoys poking fun at Peeta and I's history because he know's I will rise to the argument.

As usual Peeta steps in to mediate. "I agree with Katniss," he says pulling Haymitch's taunting face in his direction. "We aren't going to the Capitol to provide people with entertainment, we will be there to support our government," he states.

"That is not going to stop the reporters and the gossip networks," Haymitch says and takes a sip from his mug. Immediately his face screws up in a sour expression and he spits it back into the cup. "Blah! Cold," he grouses.

Grabbing the coffee pot from the table Peeta stands, "I acknowledge that people will be curious about...us..." he says going to sink and begins to make a fresh pot of coffee. Looking over his shoulder he continues, "but we have the right to privacy now. Plus, whatever people believe about us can't be changed with proclamation anyway," he says setting the coffee pot on the stove and turning on the fire under it.

Haymitch shakes his head, "You two are trying to trap a storm in a jar."

Peeta sits back down at the table and picks up the pen, "Maybe, but it's one of her requirements for attending, and frankly it's...one of mine as well." he says.

My head snaps up in surprise. "Really?" I ask.

"Yeah, really," he says with a nod. "You're right, they need to back off and give us our space."

His words lift a weight off my shoulders. I was afraid he would misinterpret my intentions. After all, that whole period of our lives meant so much more than the love-crazed teens we portrayed in the media. It was during that time we built a deep abiding friendship, that despite everything keeps us anchored in each others lives even now. Our connection, the real one, means too much to me to allow it to become a part of an agenda again.

Reaching across the table I take the pad from him and hold out my hand for the pencil, "What else do you want ?" I ask, officially closing the star cross lovers topic.

Peeta smirks and casually puts the pencil behind his ear. "You know Katniss, I think I can manage to take down my own demands," he teases, "and you know why?" he asks, a smile playing on the corner of his lips.

Silently I thank Peeta for trying to lighten the mood of the room. With some effort I level my gaze at him and try to look annoyed because I do know what he's going to say, it's his standard these days for anything about him that surprises me, or when he simply is being stubborn about something. "Because, thanks to the generosity of the Capitol, you were taught to what...write?" I ask.

Peeta laughs, "Well I was going to say, " to take notes,", but yours works too," he says grabbing the pad from in front of me.

"Could you two flirt later, I have a lot on my to-do list today," Haymitch grumbles.

I shoot him a sour look but decided to not rise to his ribbing when I see that the pains of sobering up have started to creep across his features. Scooting back from the table, I go over to the stove and grab the] now percolating coffee pot, then move to a cabinet next to sink for a bottle of brandy Peeta keeps here for cooking. Stopping next to Haymitch I fill his mug about halfway with coffee and set the liquor bottle down next to it. "Have a drink Haymitch, you're being a bigger ass than usual," I say. He looks up at me with a mixture of gratitude and sadness that hurts my heart. I don 't say anything, I just give his shoulder a squeeze and return to my seat across the table from him and Peeta.

"So, do you have anything to add," I ask Peeta, pushing the conversation forward.

Peeta looks over at Haymitch and back to me. "Yeah, I wrote it down," he says holding the pad up so I can see he's added to it.

I give him a quizzical look and he shrugs. "It's nothing big," he says dismissively. "Just asked that a kitchen and baking supply are available to me...just in case I...I need them."

For the second time in the last minute, my heart hurts. I know this need is directly related to the rage he still fights every day.

Not trusting my voice, I simply bob my head in understanding.

"Anything else we want to add," Peeta asks.

I look to Haymitch and raise an eyebrow, "Liquor, really that's all you want?" I ask.

He smiles at me and dumps a bit more of the Brandy into his coffee, "I would request that I not being woken before noon, but I know that is probably impossible." he says. When he sees my annoyed expression, he adds, "Listen, Sweetheart, there is very little they can throw at me that I haven't already been subjected to after spending 25 years in the Capitol. Now I do agree with you about the interviews and propos, but I think that requirement should be for all of us not just you Mockingjay, they could exclude you but use Peeta and me as a loophole. Other than that, I have nothing that requires special attention."

"You're sure?" I ask.

He gives me one of his rare genuine smiles, "I'm sure," he says.

I turn my attention back to Peeta, but before I can speak he's shaking his head at me, "I don't have anything else to add. I made the changes Haymitch suggested, added all of our names" he says, handing me the notepad for review.

Peeta, in his beautiful fluid script, has neatly penned all the items we have discussed. In addition, he added at the bottom of the list a request for a written response within two weeks. My eyes flow over the list over and over again as I silently ruminate on each requirement, trying to in vision how it will be received and if anything else can be added. Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly and finally look up at the two men sitting across from me. "Let's sign it," I say with a finality I don't necessarily feel.

Peeta holds the pencil out to me, "You first."

I sign quickly and pass the notebook and pencil to Peeta. While he and Haymitch add their signatures, I stand up and got to the desk for an envelope. When I turn back to the table I see Haymitch, my bottle of Brandy tucked under his arm, making his way for the door. "Haymitch, you're leaving?" I ask.

He stops and glances back at me, "I told you, lots on my to-do list today. Plus it doesn't take the three of us to call Soldier Moody," he says.

"Based on the bars I saw on his jacket this morning I think it's Captain Moody now," Peeta tells him.

I roll my eyes at the two of them, then wave Haymitch off. "Don't forget to feed the geese," I remind him.

"Yep, on that to-do list," he mutters, then disappears out the door.

Handing Peeta the envelope I retrieved from the desk, I start making my way around the table collecting the breakfast dishes. "You know it's a good thing geese are self-sufficient, because I suspect Haymitch will be looking for his to-do list at the bottom of my bottle of Brandy," I say.

Peeta chuckles. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll make sure to put out some food for them this afternoon," he says sliding our list into the envelope.

Dropping the dishes I've collected onto the counter top I plug the sink, add a bit a soap and turn on the tap. Peeta soon joins me at the sink, skillet and coffee pot in hand. Sliding plates into the warm soapy water, I start the mindless job of washing the morning dishes as my mind drifting over the strange events of the morning.

Coming to stand next to me at the sink, Peeta silently props the envelope containing our list on the window sill before pulling open a drawer. Grabbing a towel he silently set in on drying the items I have finished washing. This is our routine. Peeta and I make breakfast, 's, we trade insults with Haymitch, then Peeta and I stand at the sink washing and drying the dishes before we go about our day, hunting, painting, baking, gardening, perhaps taking a walk into town to meet the train or to deliver bread, working on our memory book. This is the flow of our days, but as I stand here with my hands in the soapy water staring at the envelope addressed to President Paylor I know it's all about to change.

"Peeta, are we really going to do this...go back to..to all of it?" I ask quietly, my eyes glued to the letter.

Dropping the towel on the counter, he turns to face me. "Katniss," he says his tone imploring me to look at him.

Dragging my eyes from the envelope, I pull my hands from the sink, grab the towel he discarded and look up at him. I'm taken aback by the hint worry I see creasing his eyes.

"I...I don't how to say this so I'm just going to...to say it," he stammers. "I don't want you to go," he says plainly.

My mouth falls open in surprise. "You don't...but...didn't you, I mean I thought you..." I sputter, my tongue tripping over my over my thoughts.

"No, I...I mean yes. Yes, I understand your reasoning and I think, I think it's...well, it's what I knew you would do. You're Katniss Everdeen. You've always been willing take the weight of the world onto your shoulders, and I...I've always thought you're amazing," he says softly. Taking a half step closer to me he continues, his voice low. "Honestly, my reasons for not wanting you to go are completely selfish. In the last year you have worked so hard to embrace your grief and to ...to" he pauses, searching for words, "to start living again." he finally manages to say. Taking another small hesitant step towards me. "I don't want this to make you go away again," he confesses in a low voice.

Every muscle in my body is suddenly on high alert, as my instinct to flee whenever Peeta comes this close to me kicks in, but in spite of it, I find myself rooted to floor looking up into the clear blue pools of his eyes as my traitorous mind pushes dozens different memories of me in his arms through my brain. I can't trust my voice at the moment, but I do manage a small nod to show him I understand his concerns, that I have the same ones.

He sighs and a sad smile crosses his face. "But then there's Prim. And Finnick, and Castor, Wiress, Boggs, Messalla, Portia, Darius, Cinna, all of the victors and the list goes on and on and on and I know..." he pauses and takes a breath, "I know, that it's the right choice... to ensure all those sacrifices matter. So I can't be selfish," he says tears pooling in his eyes.

It takes every fiber of my being to not reach out and touch him. "For them," I manage to whisper.

He nods his head, "Yes, for them...and for Panem, but also for you," he says in a quiet voice. "After the games, the war, Prim, you were broken and it was terrifying to watch and not be able to help," he confesses, tears glistening in his eyes, "but that is about me, not you. You were broken but you didn't let it defeat you. Piece by piece you have slowly put a life back together for yourself and while it may not look exactly like it did before, it's yours. I guess I just have to remember you stronger than you look," he says giving me a small smile.

A tear slides silently down my cheek. Peeta and his words, at times I almost forget how damaged he is, but only almost. "I'm not so strong," I say, "I'm just angry and good with a bow."

He bursts out in laughter. "Well, I can't argue with facts," he chuckles, "but it's far from who you are in total Katniss Everdeen".

"If only I could feel as confident as you make me sound, then this whole thing would be a lot less petrifying ," I say.

The corner of lips pulling up into a soft smile, Peeta slowly lifts his hand to my face and gently plucks a wayward strand from in front of my eyes. Pulling the strain from my vision, he gently drops it behind my ear. I feel a shiver begin to run up by spin and immediately scold myself for being ridiculous. He's gestures isn't a particularly intimate one, it is, however, the second time today he has touched me without a real purpose. I'm not hurt, there wasn't a general need in the gestures and they weren't reflexive like with the primrose yesterday. This touch, like the one with the sweater, was intentional, even stranger yet, he seems...fine, with the interaction. Taking a quick inventory of is face and posture, I see none of the physical signs that I've become accustomed to when an episode is about to take him, instead I only see clear blue eyes looking back at me.

It not until Buttercup appears at my feet and begins to meow that the moment between us is broken. I look down and silently thank and cure the cat at the same time.

Scooping the large cat into his arms, Peeta gives his right ear a through scratching, "Hey there ugly," he says.

Giving myself a mental shake, I give Peeta my best smirk. "Prim would have had your head for calling him that," I tell him reaching up to scratch Buttercup's other ear.

"What?! It's a term of affection," Peeta counters, turning to the table. "I have something for you," he tells the cat setting him on the tabletop. Grabbing his napkin from breakfast he reveals a perfectly cooked piece of bacon.

"You're lucky Haymitch was distracted and Peeta is nice Fuzzball, or you would getting the burnt bits in the pan," I tell the feline.

Peeta grins down at Buttercup as he breaks off a large chunk of bacon and sets it on the table in front of the cat. Without looking up, he steers us back to the topic of the morning. "So, uh, do you want me to call over to the Justice Building?" he asks.

The question is an obvious one, but it sends my thoughts into a whirlwind. With all the talk about the Capitol and Mockingjay, I had put Gale to the back of my mind, but now I have to face the fact that he's here. In Twelve. He was in my house, in my very presence no more than an hour ago, the reality is hard for my brain to absorb. In quiet moments over the last year, when I have allowed him to consciously pass through my mind, I've always imagined him in a dank dark base like Thirteen which oddly gave me comfort. I don't know if was the knowledge that he was physically far away or the image of him in the dank darkness that brought me a sense of peace, as vengeful as the thought may be. Now he's here, in town, in the Seam, surrounded by the mountains..by our woods and the safe box I've kept his memory in is open and spilling over me and I feel like I'm drowning.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks, concern in voice.

My eyes find his worried ones. Taking a deep breath, I try to give him a reassuring look. "I will take it to him," I manage to get out.

Peeta's eyes go wide with surprise. "Katniss, that isn't necessary," he blurts out.

"Yes, it is," I say reticently.

He shakes his head at me. "I don't understand. Based on this morning I figured you weren't exactly happy to see him," he says.

"Not unhappy exactly...honestly I still don't know how I feel about it," I confess.

I feel Peeta's eyes boring into me, trying to make sense of my statements.

I run my hands over my hair and try to put words to my jumbled thoughts. "I need to figure out if I can forgive him," I say quietly.

He takes a long deep breath and lets it out. He's not thrilled. "He isn't due your forgiveness," he says evenly.

I take a small step towards him, "I know that. And it's not about him, it's about me. I've spent over a year avoiding even the thought of him...but now he's here, and I'm apparently going to the Capitol again and I have no doubt he will be asked to the gathering, so perhaps I should stop avoiding...

"Him," Peeta interrupts, nearly spitting the word out.

He's upset, I can see the tension in his how he's holding his shoulders. I shake my head and lock my eyes with his, silently begging him to understand,"No not him, me," I say softly.

His shoulders relax a little at this. "You're sure?" he asks.

"Nope, not sure at all. But as you pointed out just a moment ago, I've been putting my life back together and I have to...face this too," I say my voice wavering.

Peeta pulls his eyes from mine and looks down at the cat, feeding him the last chunk of bacon. "Do you want me to go with you?" he asks without looking up.

This brings a smile to my face, "You don't have to protect me from this."

"It's what we do," he returns, looking up from the cat.

"I know where to find you if I need to have Gale beaten up," I grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Peeta laughs out loud. "I could take him too," he says, standing up taller and pushing out his chest.

I roll my eyes at his macho vibrato and walk over to grab the envelope where he set it on the window sill. Running my fingers along the sharp edge, I work to summons up the courage I need to find out how I really feel about Gale Hawthorn. Pulling myself up to my full height, I raise my chin and force my feet forward towards the front door, but pause briefly when I reach Peeta. "You'll be here when I get home?" I ask softly.

"Yes," is all he says, but with just this one word I know if this ends up being a disaster he'll be here to catch me if I fall. With this knowledge, I give him a weak smile of gratitude and head off for the Justice Building.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks everyone for your patients. Summer has been super busy and I haven't had the time to write as I would like. Thanks to all of you who have Favorited and followed this story. I know it's hard to stick with stories that linger, so thanks! Please enjoy and comment. Hugs to you all:)**

Staring out the second-floor window of the newly constructed Justice Building I take in what used to be the center of town. It has come a long way since I was here last. The rubble has been cleared, the broken buildings raised and the bodies...all the bodies of those I couldn't save... "Where did you bury them all," I ask Thom, my eyes not moving from the window.

"The meadow," he says in a quiet voice.

"That's good, it's very peaceful there."

"Once we get the money together we plan on putting up a monument with everyone's name."

An image of an obelisk flashes in my mind, every inch, from the top point to the base, covered with the names of the dead. Without my permission, my thoughts settle on the image of thousands of burned bodies strewn in the streets. The memory is so strong I swear I can smell the sickly sweet smoke coming off the smoldering corpses. Gripping the window sill, I fight back the urge to gag.

I swallow hard and fight to regain my composure. "A monument's a nice idea," I manage to get out.

"No, it's not; it's depressing. It will be a stone reminder of the horror this place has seen, but I guess that's the point."

Turning my back to the window, I look at my old friend. "How do you do it? Live here, work here...after everything?" I ask.

Thom raises a hand to his chin and rubs at the shaggy growth on it. "After the war was over I was free to go anywhere I wanted, any district, but the only place besides here I had ever been was Thirteen and I knew within my first week there I wasn't cut out for livin' underground; reminds me too much of the mines. In the end, I guess it came down to a question of comfort. War made everywhere ugly, but I was somehow comforted by the idea that at least I knew what to expect here," he says matter of factly. "I'm glad I chose to come home, it's been an honor to witness the transform of this land from a place of pain and hunger to a place with a promising future."

I nod, but deep down I don't truly understand his reasoning. Just the simple task of standing here is too painful for me. I can't help but wonder at the resolve it must take to live and work in a graveyard every day. Giving my old friend a closer inspection I can see that the last year has not been easy on him. At not even 21 years old I can easily spot crows feet around his eyes, worry lines across his forehead and gray hairs speckling his dark brown hair. I might not understand him, but I've never respected him more than I do right now.

Pushing myself off the windowsill, I make my way a table in the middle of the room."Well, I guess we should get down to brass tacks," I say, bring us back to the task at hand. Thom nod's and as goes to a messy desk in the corner and grabs a few file folders and a large rolled up map. He had just laid flat the map on a table and begun walking me through the construction schedule when there is a light knock on the door.

"Come in," he calls out.

A sandy-haired man with green eyes enters the room, glances at me, then turns his attention to Thom, "I'm sorry to interrupt your meeting Sir, but Miss Everdeen is here to see the Captain."

A large smile splits Thom's face. Based on the genuine look of affection on his face I can tell that he and Katniss are more than the mere acquaintances they were before the war. Crossing to the door, Thom calls down the staircase to her. "Katniss Everdeen, you should know better than to stand on formality, get your skinny Seam butt up here!"

After a few beats, Katniss appears in the door. A basket on one arm, she's shaking a disapproving head at him. "Thom, you're the mayor of Twelve, have a little dignity," she says sarcastically.

"I see Haymitch's charming personality continues to rub off on you," Thom teases. "and that's "Acting Mayor" to you," he laughs.

Katniss joins the sound with a light chuckle of her own. Taking the basket from the crook of her arm she hands it to him. "Peeta said to tell you that he didn't have time to make the rosemary rolls you requested but he'll have them for you at dinner tonight."

Lifting the cloth that covers the basket Thom peeks inside at his delivery. "I'm guessing he's been too busy keeping the pretty girl down the street company instead of making my rolls," he smirks.

Katniss's cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink at the comment and I feel my back teeth grind together. I don't really know why I'm responding this way, I've known for a year that she and Peeta were both back in twelve and back in each other's lives. I turn the possibilities over in my head for a moment before I realize that it's not their proximity or even the time she and Peeta spend time together that's irking me, it's the blush on her face.

"Gale, do you have time for a walk?" she asks.

Tossing my spinning thoughts aside, I raise an eyebrow at Thom. "Would putting this off an hour throw off your whole day?" I ask.

"No of course not! " he says. " Plus I'd never dream of standing between you two, might end up with an arrow in my ass if I do," he smirks.

Katniss rolls her eyes at him, then looks at me expectantly.

"I guess I'm all yours," I tell her.

I hear Thom scoff under his breath. "Yeah, well you'll have to get in li..." he beings to say, but with one a quick look from Katniss he falls silent. An odd silence falls between the two of them.

I clear my throat and try to ignore tension building in my own stomach. "Shall we?" I venture, gesturing towards the door. Katniss gives me a small nod and starts for the exit, but pauses at the door. Glancing over her shoulder she offers Thom an apologetic smile, "I'll see you and Becca at dinner tonight." she says.

Thom returns her smile with a wide one of his own, clearly he knows he has been forgiven for whatever transgression passed between them. "Oh, by the way, Becca wanted me to tell you that she's bringing a pie. That should allow Peeta time for my rosemary rolls," he smirks.

Rolling her eyes theatrically, Katniss chuckles softly before turning on her heels and heading out the door.

Following her small frame down the stairs and out the front door, I come to a halt as the bright midmorning sun blinds me momentarily. When my eyes adjust, I find her looking up at me from the bottom of the stairs.

"Not spending much time in the sun these days?" she asks, her eyebrow raised.

"Spend most of my time working in a cement bunker, so no, not much time in the sun," I answer honestly. Carefully I make my way down the temporary stairs of the justice building, but when I reach the last stair it cracks underfoot and I end up ankle deep in a mud puddle. "Damn it," I mutter under my breath, shaking the mud from my boot. "Never thought I would wish the Justice building was still standing," I say offhandedly as I glance back the two-story wood building we just exited.

"Of everything that was destroyed, that building is the only one I'm actually glad is gone, "Katniss says resolutely before turning her on her heels and marching off across the square.

I watch her for a long moment. With the long hem of her sweater swaying at her knees, I'm reminded of the first day met her in the woods her small 12-year-old frame wrapped in her her father's hunting jacket. As this image flashes through my mind a realization creeps into my consciousness. My long legs close the distance between us quickly, too quickly. Within seconds, I'm matching her stride and I find I haven't had the time to consider the thoughts buzzing in my head before the words spill out of my mouth. "Nice sweater Catnip, you sure Peeta won't catch a chill without it?" Immediately I want to put the sentence back in my mouth but it's too late.

When she doesn't respond to my snarky comment, I glance down at her and find her mindlessly running a finger along one the knitted the sleeves, her face impassive.

Her lack of reaction annoys me and sets me on edge. In the past when the subject of Peeta has come up she always went on the defensive with statements like "it was an act " or "he's my friend", so to see her unfazed by my comment leads me to an unpleasant conclusion. "So you two are official now," I state, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

She chuckles mirthlessly, "I don't see how that's relevant to why you're here," she says.

I sidestep her evasiveness and push the subject, but even as I do I know I'm putting my nose where it doesn't belong. "So that's a yes," I say trying to keep my voice neutral but failing.

Stopping mid-stride, she turns to face me, "I don't want to discuss it with you, Gale," she says matter of factly.

Something has indeed changed, I can feel it in her odd calmness. I clench my jaw tightly, shutting it against the loaded questions lining up on my tongue. "Fine," I mutter.

Turning back to the road, we silently wind our way down street after street. It's not until I see the boarded up entrance to the mine that I realize we are in what used to be the Seam. I look around trying to find another landmark to my mark by bearings, but nothing is familiar. The entire area has been transformed. Where once there had been small broken gray houses and muddy streets, there are now bright white single story structures with kitchen gardens and roads paved in crushed gravel. "How is this the Seam?" I ask in awe.

"There isn't a Seam anymore," Katniss replies simply. She points to one of the small white houses, "It only takes about two weeks to build one of those believe it or not. All of the walls come in on the train preassembled. Yet in spite of easy construction people still had to sleep in tents over the winter," she says a hint of outrage coloring her voice.

My head snaps in her direction at this information. "What happened?" I ask.

Coming to a stop she looks up at me, scrutinizing my face. "Delays in the prefab construction in Two and constant train delays," she says, "But you already knew that," she says suspiciously.

"I suspected, there are similar issues all over the country," I confess.

Without reply, she turned back to the road and we continue walking in silence until we reach "our" place in the woods, the rock ledge overlooking a valley. Taking a seat on the ledge, I let my legs dangle over the side and take a deep breath. The scent of the trees and the vegetation all call me home and I can't help but I sigh.

Katniss settles down next to me on the rock, tossing her legs over the edge as well. "Do you miss it?" she asks, her voice quiet.

I look over at her and find her looking out over the valley and her hair blowing gently in the breeze. She looks peaceful...beautiful. Being in this place again, with her sitting so near, I'm immediately struck with a stirring of long-buried emotions. There a mix of nostalgia for our past, longing for our lost friendship and most disconcerting of all, a deep yearning to hold her. The very thought of her in my arms makes my heart tumble sickeningly into my stomach.

"You don't miss home at all?" she asks when I don't respond.

Shoving my troubled thoughts aside, I look over at her and give her an uncommitted shrug. "I don't know, I guess I have mixed emotions about this place now," I say turning to look back over the lush green valley below me. "I do miss this. These woods, I mean. I miss hunting, and going to the Hob for wild dog stew," I laugh remember all our days sitting on Grease Sae's counter eating her most recent concoction, but as this happy memory surfaces so does dozens of the bad ones. "But I don't miss the mines or watching people starve to death and I certainly don't miss being a puppet of the Capitol." I spit out. Pushing my hand through my hair, I take a calming breath. "Honestly, I don't think I will ever be able to come here without reliving that last day. When I walk through town I swear I can smell the smoke," I admit shaking my head sadly. When I turn my eyes back to hers, I find her with tears in hers. It takes all of my self-control not to reach up to brush them away. "How do you do it?" I ask softly.

Katniss eyes soften in thought for a moment before she answers my question. "I've been broken, burned and scarred just like this town. The last year has been healing for me to watch as it's been rebuilt, being turned into something new, a place with a new purpose. I guess it gives me hope that the same thing could happen to me to someday," she says swiping at a tear that has managed to escape.

"I couldn't live with all of the ghosts," I admit.

She titters, "Gale, I don't think our kind of ghosts are hindered by such mundane things as location. We're bound to them no matter where we lay our heads."

I think of Prim's sweet smile and know she is right. I moved to Two, even tried to bury myself in work to keep from thinking about her, but she still finds me every night in my dreams. Tears prick the back of my eyes as the familiar feeling of regret bubbles up in my chest. "I think of her every day," I confess.

Katniss's eyes glistened with fresh tears. "So do I," she says her voice thick with grief.

I swallow around a lump that has formed in my throat. "I know you can never forgive me...and I don't expect you to, God knows I can't even forgive myself, but will we ever be able to... to..." My voice trails off, I don't know how to end the sentence. Am I honestly going to ask her if she will ever be able to be my friend again? I already know the answer to that question. After what seems like an eternity I finally finish with, "be amiable, in each other presence?"

"All things considered, I would say today has been the very definition of the word," she returns.

"Peeta giving me the death glare and you shooting daggers at me with your eyes, you call that amiable?" I inquire darkly.

Leaning back on her elbows she gives me shrug. "Well...yeah," she says sounding almost amused, but too soon her face becomes serious again. "I'm so very tired of being angry...and sad," she confesses.

Hope springs up amidst my misery and I try to ignore it. Forgiveness is very unlikely, so to hope for it will only lead to disappointment. "Do you think we will ever get past it?" I ask.

"Peeta says we will probably never be able to forget, but that we need to be stewards of good lives. He says we need to love, laugh and...forgive, that that's how we honor those who were taken too soon," she says wistfully.

The utterance of Peeta's name makes my frustration surge. "I asked what you think, or are you two one mind these days?" I ask, working very hard to keep the annoyance out of my voice. I must not be completely successful because she's eyeing me, her own frustration flushing her cheeks. To my surprise she doesn't rise to my needling, instead, she calmly pushes herself back to a sitting position, then turns to sitting cross-legged facing of me. Reaching under the hem of her sweater she pulls out a small off-white envelope and holds it up between us; across the front, I can see someone has penned "President Paylor" in a fluid script. My heart begins to race, this is the answer I've come so far for. She stares at the envelope and lets her index finger toy with one of the corners. "We have decided to attend, but we have a few conditions," she says her voice shaking a bit. Clearing her throat, she looks back up at me. "You will be there, at the gathering?"

"Yes, I've been assigned to the event."

"That, of course, means we'll all no doubt be attending the same events and spending a reasonable amount of time together," she states.

"Yes...most likely..." I agree cautiously.

"If we want to get out of this event without fists flying I'm going to need you to put your personal issues with Peeta aside. I don't want to spend the entire visit playing referee," she states emphatically. "Peeta's a veteran of the uprising, just like you and me. The wounds he suffered in the pursuit of this freedom will haunt him the rest of his life, the least you could do is speak to him with a little respect."

"Wounds? You're acting like he's lost an arm or a..." I'm about to say leg when I realize that my analogy has a deep flaw.

Her eyes flash at me, "GALE!"

I raise my hands, "Look I'm sorry, that was a bad choice of words, but he is dangerous Katniss. It may not be his fault, but he is, and moving back here, a mere two doors down from you, that is just fucking selfish!" I yell.

Katniss's eyes have gone dark at my ranting. She stands up, "You're wrong," she states glaring down at me.

I follow suit and stand as well. "I don't think I am. You forget, I've seen him try to kill you," I growl.

She begins paces in front of me, the note now crumpled in one of her hands. "You know what Gale, you don't don't have to believe me and you certainly don't have to like Peeta. What I need to know is if you're capable of showing even the slightest restraint when speaking to or about him," she demands.

"And if I can't?" I ask bitterly.

Stopping her pacing, she turns back to me and shows me the crumpled letter in her fist. "Then I need to add another condition to my list," she states plainly.

Throwing my head back I let out a low frustrated growl, "So you'll ask them to what, send me home?"

"If that's what it takes."

Staring down into her pretty face, I can see from the set of her jaw and the steel gray glare of her eyes that she will not be swayed. She has and will always stand by him, which if I'm being honest with myself is the main reason I dislike Peeta so much. Yes, he's dangerous. Yes, I think he's a selfish bastard for putting her in danger, but mostly I hate how unwaveringly loyal she is to him.

"Well, what's it going to be?" she asks impatiently.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I turn to look out over valley spread out before us. There really isn't a choice to be made here. If I choose to go forward as I have, she will no doubt send me marching back to District Two, after all, Katniss is not one to make idle threats. It's hard for me to admit, but the truth is Peeta has her allegiance, I do not, not anymore. If there is to be any hope of mending things between us I'm going to have to make peace with Peeta Melelark...at least for now. Turning back to face her, I reluctantly nod my head in agreement.

Placing hand on one my arm she gives it a light squeeze, "Thank you," she whispers.

The warmth of her hand on my arm sends heat up and into my shoulder. _What does this girl do to me?_ I absently wonder. Much too soon, she is pulling away. I want to groan at the loss of contact, but manage to tap it down. I clear my throat and order my thoughts. "So you have a letter for me to deliver," I ask.

Looking down at the crumpled letter a frown pulls down at the corners of her lips. "Damn it," she mutters. Rubbing the envelope between her hands, she attempts to smooth the creases from the paper. Hesitantly, I raise my hand and place on top of her frenzied ones. "It's okay, it would have gotten wrinkled traveling in my pocket anyway," I tell her.

Her hands still and for a brief moment we stand together in silence, my hand covering hers. Lifting her eyes to mine, I see they are shining again with tears but my concern is immediately waylaid when I see a soft smile form on her lips. I'm about to ask her what she's thinking when I feel her press the envelope into my hand. "Just so you know, I agree with him," she says, withdrawing her hands from mine.

"Agree with who?" I ask distracted by her retreat.

Raising a sleeve up to dab at her eyes, she laughs a little. "Peeta," she says softly. "We are not "one mind", as you so eloquently suggested, but we do agree about the importance of moving forward." I feel my earlier hope rise up and do my best to ignore it. "Yes, but the logistics of such an act is easier said than done," I return.

Nodding her head agreement she lets out a deep sigh. For a brief moment, I can see the weight the last three years have had on her. "Yes, it most certainly is," she mummers.

I gather my never and ask, "Can I spend some time with you...when we're in the Capitol. Outside of the conference I mean?"

She looks at me for a long moment before responding. "Yes. I think I'd like that," she finally says.

I know I must be smiling like a fool now, but I hardly care. "Katniss," I start, but I'm interrupted by a beeping from my wrist watch. I look down at the time and frown.

"You need to go?" she asks.

I nod, "Ugh, yes, I guess I should. I still have a lot to accomplish today."

"I understand," she says. "Would you have time to join us for dinner tonight. I shot a huge turkey yesterday so we're having a few people over for dinner."

If it weren't for the "we're" part of her request I would jump at the opportunity, but seeing as I've just agreed to "play nice" with Peeta I don't think it's such a great idea to test the waters just yet. "Thanks for the invite, but since you're returned your answer so early I think I'm going to try to finish up my meetings here and catch the 2 o'clock train."

She eyes me suspiciously.

"Look, I'm not proud of it, but the truth is I really hate riding that thing at night, gives me motion sickness." I fib. While I do hate sleeping on the train, my issues have more to do with my vivid imagining of bedroom happenings over the actual motion of the train. "I'm scheduled to be in Thirteen tomorrow anyway so if leave here at two I might make it there in time to sleep in a stationary bed."

She seems to buy my story and gives me a small nod. "Well if things change, the invitation stands. We're eating around six," she offers.

My watch beeps again and I curse under my breath. "I'm sorry, but I need to get going, can I walk you home?" I offer.

She shakes her head. "Thanks, but I have salad greens to scrounge up."

I give her a nod and let out a long breath. I feel like there needs to be some sort of salutation to our parting, but I not sure what gesture to make. "Well, I guess I'll see you in a month," I finally offer awkwardly. With that, Katniss raises up on tip toes and laces her arms around my neck in a gentle hug. I nearly fall over in my surprise. "See you in a month," she says softly in my ear. Then as quickly as it started, it was over, she's stepping away from me. My watch beeps for the third time and I curse aloud.

Katniss snickers. "You better go," she urges.

I sigh. "Take care of yourself Catnip," say with a smile.

She returns the smile with one of her own. "You too," she says. Then without further ado, she turns on her heels and begins to pick her way deeper into the forest.

As I stand and watch her retreating form for a moment I replay of how she felt in my arms just seconds before. It is in this moment that I feel the longing and love that I've been suppressing for so long suddenly announce itself by sending a dull aching into my chest. "Shit," I mutter, shoving my hand through my hair. I thought I was over this. Well...okay, maybe not over it, over it, but definitely on my way to being over it. "Shit!" I growl again, "What I am I going to do now?"


	8. Chapter 8

_**This may be the quickest I've ever turned around a chapter folks, please don't get used to it LOL! Thanks again for all those who have chosen to follow my little story :) Enjoy and don't forget to leave me some feedback! HUGS!**_

Settling into one of the armchairs in the lounge car, I absently rub at the spot where my prosthetic meets my leg. The dull ache that runs from my knee to where my leg ends is a result of having slept in my prosthetic, which frankly I find annoying since I wouldn't call what I did last night sleeping. Six hours of semi-conscious flailing is not sleep. I haven't had a solid nights rest since boarding this damn train. I know our country is rebuilding after the war and all, but did they really have to send the same damn train that was used to cart us off to our deaths just two short years ago? Did it not occur to someone that this hunk of metal holds dark memories for victors? Well, I guess if I'm being totally honest with myself not _all_ of my memories of this place are terrible, but those memories s aren't necessarily better and they sure as hell don't equal sleep. These memories, the good ones, tend to lure my mind into indulgent trips down memory lane, a risky business for my damaged brain. I'm actually surprised they haven't triggered and episode. The one small, albeit selfish, solace I have is that I do not suffer alone. Katniss appeared at breakfast this morning with dark circles under her eyes and Haymitch, ever true to his character, hasn't neared anything approaching sobriety in the last 48 hours. I just hope we'll find some relief once we reach the Capitol, but I'm not betting on it.

Closing my eyes I let out a deep sigh as I try relaxing my body into the plush blue velvet of the chair. I'm just about to nod off when I hear the whoosh of the lounge car door. Lifting a sleepy eyelid, I peek out to see Thom making his way towards me. Damn it, I was so close to drifting off too. Oh well. "Hey," I say rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Hey man look like you're about to fall over. What's wrong, that brunette of yours keepin' you up till all hours of the night?" Thom asks with a playful wink.

I can't stop a laugh from escaping, if he only knew how close to the truth he actually is. "Thom, you know things aren't like that between Katniss and I," I rebuff nonchalantly.

Thom raises his eyebrows and smirks at me, clearly unconvinced. "Whatever you say Mellark."

My smile fades as the forest and mountains outside the train window give way to the outskirts of the Capitol. We're almost there. "Thom, while Katniss and I don't mind your... _unique_ form of matchmaking, You need to know you can't say those kinds of things around others while we're in there," I say pointing out the window at the growing Capitol skyline.

Thom walks to the window and watches the passing scenery for a minute. "I know that," he finally says. Turning, he comes over and drops himself into the chair across from me. "You know that I don't just tease you two for kicks right?" he asks.

I must look as confused as I feel because he laughs and leans back in the chair. "Look, if you are hoping to downplay the whole star-crossed lover's thing, I suggest you guys pay closer attention to your body language and that whole lingering eye lock thing," he says.

I snort and open my mouth to protest when Haymitch's voice interrupted my objection. "He's right," he says in graveled voice. I glance over and find that crossing the length of the car is the soberest version of Haymitch I've seen in more than week. "Our silence isn't going to matter if you two can't tone it down."

Groaning, I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes. "But we aren't' a couple," I growl in frustration.

Haymitch guffaws and flops down onto a couch to my left. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Look son, it doesn't matter to me what label you and sweetheart have assigned to your "friendship," he says using air quotes around the word friendship, "What Thom and I are trying to tell you is that if you keep it up it's not going to matter whether nor not we requested a ban on the whole star-crossed lovers thing."

My immediate reaction is to brush Haymitch and Thom off, but the strangely serious tone in Haymitch's voice has me reconsidering. "So you want me to what, ignore her? That would stir up rumors too don't you think?"

Haymitch is giving me a half shrug when the door at the back of the car whooshes open and Katniss enters. My stomach drops when I see her. Her face, in spite of the make-up she has applied, is very pale making the dark circles under her eyes look like faint bruises. and expression is a cross between a need to vomit and panic. "Damn it," I mutter under my breath. I've been preparing myself for this for weeks, but seeing her in this state is harder than I thought it would be.

Getting up I quickly cross the car to where she stands rooted to the floor, her gaze locked on the Capitol skyline out the window. "Katniss," I say softly. Her gaze reluctantly pulls away from the scene outside the window to lock with mine. Her eyes are large with alarm reminding me of a trapped animal. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I gesture towards the chair I just vacated. "Come sit down, I'll get you something to drink," I direct. She nods silent and I lead her over and deposit her into the chair. Going to the bar on the far wall of the car, I quickly mix up gin and tonic. Katniss isn't one to indulge in drink, especially during the day, but she needs something to calm her nerves. Coming back to the cluster of chairs and couches, I crouch down in front of her and hand her the glass. "Drink this, it will help calm you down a little," I say. With a shaky hand, she takes my offering and obediently beings sipping it.

"This," Haymitch says abruptly.

I glance at him, "What?" I ask distractedly.

Haymitch waves his hand, connecting Katniss and me with an invisible line. "This is what we're talking about," He says.

"Making sure she's okay and getting her drink, that's what passes as evidence of a torrid love affair?" I return snarkily.

This comment seems to bring Katniss out of her daze. "What are you two talking about?" she asks suspiciously.

Ignoring her question, Haymitch says to me, "It's not what you're doing, it's the intensity in which you do it. Look, you two can call this whatever you want, but they," he says pointing to the fast approaching Capitol, "are going to draw their own conclusions, relationship ban or not."

Standing up, I walk over the window and look out. "They are going to assume things regardless of what we do," I mutter.

"Yeah, that may be true, but you don't need to give them ammunition," Haymitch rebuts.

"Haymitch, Peeta and I we relate on a different level. How on earth do you suggest we change that?" Katniss asks, clearly having figured out what we're debating.

Thom clears his throat. "Maybe we could come up with some sort of signal, a word or gesture. Just something to let you know that...that..."

"You're acting weird," Haymitch adds without hesitation.

I look over my shoulder at the group behind me and take a moment to truly consider what they are saying. I wish I could just blow it off as a case of being over dramatic, but deep down I know they're right. What I have with Katniss can't be defined in general terms. People expect us to fit neatly into their preconceived notions of either friends or lovers and can't seem to comprehend any other option. As annoying as I find all of this, the fact is that Thom and Haymitch are our friends and they're just trying to give Katniss and I the privacy we desire.

Coming back to the cluster of chairs, I sit down next to Haymitch on the couch. "Fine," I grumble.

"What kind of signal are you thinking Thom," Katniss adds.

"Stop it," is probably too obvious right?" Haymitch laughs.

I glare at him, "That's not helpful."

Thom interjects, "How about we use the word Mockingjay?"

Haymitch purses his lips in consideration. "I like it," he finally says. "Easy to work into a sentence and it shouldn't raise any suspicions if overheard. What do you two think?"

My gaze locks with Katniss's as we weigh our options. Thom begins to laugh. "Mockingjay! Mockingjay!" he says in a loud indiscreet whisper. This breaks the tension in the room and we all begin to laugh, but our merriment is cut short when the room goes dark save a few safety lights along the ceiling. We have entered the tunnel that will take us into the city center train depot. Silently Haymitch reaches over and flips on a lamp. The soft yellow glow of the light does little to brighten our moods, however. Nervously, Katniss shakes the empty glass in her hands causing the ice to clang against the sides of the cup, "I think I need another drink," she mutters, her eyes transfixed on the passing bedrock just outside the window.

Haymitch chuckles and reaches over to take the cup from her. "Give the first one a minute to kick in Sweetheart, we don't need you toppling off the train platform upon arrival." This comment elicits a sly smile from Katniss and I immediately know that she's thinking about the day of our first reaping. Drunk out of his mind, Haymitch had managed to both feel up Effie Trinket and fall headlong off the reaping stage that day. I remember feeling amused and terrified all at the same time, he was after all supposed to be our mentor.

"Seeing as you are our resident expert on such things, I will concede to your judgment," Katniss returns dryly.

Haymitch rolls his eyes at her, "It only happened that once," he says theatrically.

"Ah, the good old days," I mutter through a half grin of my own.

As suddenly as the car had gone dark, sunlight burst in, blinding us all. The squealing of the brakes seems to rev my heart up until I begin to feel lightheaded. Putting my head back I close my eyes and try to focus on slowing my pulse.

"Damn that is a LOT of people, " I hear Thom say in awe.

Squeezing my eyes closed even more tightly I being reciting a mantra in my head, "It's only for a few weeks. It's only for a few weeks. It's only for a few weeks." A gentle hand on my arm brings be back to the present. Opening my eyes I find that Katniss has replaced Haymitch on the couch next to me and she has a look of concern on her face. I try to force a smile. "I'm okay, really. It's just...the crowd." I tell her. She nods, "I know, I hate it too," she says as she slides her hand down my arm. Stopping just short of the cuff of my shirt, she lifts a dark eyebrow at me, asking permission to take my hand. I give her a small smile and move to take her tentative hand in mine.

"Uh...Mockingjay?" Thom says sarcastically.

"Now now kid," Haymitch snaps, giving Thom a stern look. Thom looks completely confusion by the rebuff. "Look son, no one's around right now, give them a minute to gather their thoughts. This is a damn hard thing they are about to do," he clarifies a bit more gently.

I give Haymitch a look a gratitude then turn my attention back to Katniss. "You ready for this?" I ask. She nods, her face plastered with a look of grim determination but I can feel her hand shaking in mine. We sit like this, hand in hand, our eyes locked in silent support until the PA crackles to life. "Welcome to Capitol City where the local time is 3:12 pm. Please use caution when exiting the train, as the platform is currently under construction." Taking one last deep breath, I stand up and pull Katniss along with me. "You've got this," I state in quiet voice only meant for her to hear. "Right back at ya," she whispers in return, giving me a wink. I feel my heart jump a little in my chest at the gesture, but I reluctantly release her hand. Time to get into character. Looking out the window, I can see barricades have been set up to hold back the crowd and I can hear the din of noise coming from the platform. "Alright, let's get this show on the road," I say before turning and heading for the exit.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, everyone! So this a beast of a chapter! 7,970 words before this little intro:) I've read it through a few times, but there may still be some odd wording issues or missing words from edits. Please let me know if you see anything funky or something doesn't make sense. This chapter was A LOT of fun to write. I'm really getting excited about the chapters I have coming up, some fun and interesting things should start happening now that our crew is in the Capitol. As always thank you for reading and please comment if you have a moment, each one is like a little gift and helps keep me motivated and inspired to write.**

 ** _Oh and a little side note: I'm making some assumptions on timelines here in order to gauge the ages of Peeta and Katniss. Since we don't know their exact birth dates, I've decided to give them fall/winter birthdays. I'm also assuming the events of the Mockingjay spread out over 6-12 months. We know they've been home for a year. So my time line is this: 16 in their 1st games, 17 in their second games 2nd games and 18 at the end of war. The both of them are now 19 turning 20 in the coming fall/winter. I'm missing something and need to adjust the ages, let me know :)_**

Peeta leads our group to the exit at the rear of the train car but stops at the door. He straightens his spine and squares his shoulders, preparing for the onslaught just beyond the thin metal. I feel my own hands start to tremble and sweat as anxiety wreaks havoc on my body. I desperately want to grab Peeta's hand, recapture the gentle support I found in his grasp just moments before, but I can't. The cameras are on and we must play our part. We have been invited here to support our new country, to draw attention to the issues the districts are facing, we do not need the distraction of the "star-crossed lovers" nonsense.

Peeta raises his hand to the button that releases the door but pauses to look over his shoulder at me. His gaze is steady and tells me it's all going to be okay. I let out an audible breath and give him a small nod. Plastering on his most winning Capitol smile, he shoves the button the door slides open. We are immediately accosted by a cacophony of sound from the platform. The noise causes my courage to wane and a tingle of panic rise up from the souls of my feet and spreads quickly into my fingertips. I feel as if I'm about to topple into a full out panic attack when a hand on my elbow pulls me back, grounding me. My eyes follow the hand up the arm, to a neck and finally to Haymitch's face. "I've got you," he whispers, sliding his arm into mine so that our elbows are locked. Pulling him in closer, I bask for a moment is the steadfastness his offering. "Thank you," I mouth. He says nothing, just paints a smile on his face and leads me forward.

Within seconds we are out on what appears to be a newly constructed platform and directly in front of us, held back by only a few wooden barricades and a half dozen soldiers, is an undulating throng of reporters and fans calling our names over and over again. My breath catches as so many memories flood back. I clinging to Haymitch's arm like a lifeline.

"Smile and wave," Haymitch says through his teeth.

I blink a few times and slowly come out of my daze. _Showtime,_ I think. Lifting my lips in what I hope is a convincing smile, I being to wave.

"See, just like old times," Haymitch says squeezing my arm.

"That's not exactly..." I begin to say but trail off when above the din of noise I hear the trill of a familiar voice. Instantly I go into hunter mode scanning the crowd for the owner.

Haymitch gives my arm a tug. "Over there," he says nodding his head over his right shoulder.

Going up on tiptoes, I scan the crowd until I spot a petite woman in a pair of impossibly high, high-heeled shoes. _Is that...Effie_? my mind sputters as it try's to work its way from a shocked state. In all honesty,if it weren't for the impeccable posture and ever-present schedule board in the crook of her arm, I would not recognize her at all. The woman standing mere feet from me in a soft lavender suit, with natural wavy blonde hair in a coiffed bob, couldn't have even served as a shadow to the Capitol escort of my past. It's not that she is out of fashion per say because her suit, with its metallic sheen shimmering in the sun, and her perfectly sculpted hair, definitely have a Capitol air to them, it's just that the person I remember preferred the outrageous over sensible and chic. The differences are so jarring I'm beginning to think that I've mistaken a stranger for Effie, that is until I see her look down at her watch and a sour expression lights her face. I nearly laugh aloud. That is a look I know all to well, one reserved for when her schedule is not going as planned. I smile, my first genuine one since exiting the train.

Dropping down off my toes, I whisper to Haymitch, "How long do we have to do this?"

"Not sure. How's Thom holding up?" he asks, his focus never leaving the crowd.

So wrapped up in the crowd and Effie I've totally forgotten that Thom is standing next to me. I venture a sideways glance at him and grimace inwardly. He looks petrified. Not a surprise really, it's not like he's ever experienced anything like this before. Reaching over, I gently take his hand in mine. He looks down at me.

"This is nuts," he whispers.

"Yeah, it takes a little getting used to. Just try to relax. Find a few friendly faces in the crowd and focus on them." I suggest. He nods and scans the crowd. I see his shoulders being to relax. "Now wave and smile," I encourage. Thom is just getting the hang of it when I hear Effie's voice over the crowd, "Alright, alright, that's enough," she says sauntering across the stage. The soldiers on duty take this as a cue to push the crowd back another few feet. Our small group turns to greet our escort.

"Effie!" Peeta exclaims, taking the small woman up in a fierce hug. To my surprise, she returns with a similar level of enthusiasm. The Effie of two years ago would not have approved of such a public display. "You look amazing," Peeta says over her shoulder.

"You're too sweet," she mummers back affectionally. After a long moment, she pulls out of the hug but doesn't release her hold on his arms. She scans him up and down and shakes her head. "Peeta Mellark, how much have you grown in the last year? It has to be at least three inches" she exclaims.

Peeta grins down at her, "Four and a half inches actually," he tells her. _Four and a half inches!?_ I think. I glance over at Peeta and try to remember him a year ago, better yet, two years ago. Peeta has always been taller than me, even in our first games, but in reality, he was only a boy then. As my mind flips through my mental photographs of him I suddenly find myself surprised by how much he really has changed. Approaching twenty years old , Peeta has gone from having maybe three inches on me to a good seven or eight, he easily could rest his chin on my head. But it's not just his height that's changed. My memory stops on an image of him in the square at our first reaping, his body stocky and strong from years worked in his family bakery, and compare it to the man standing in front of me now. His shoulders are still broad and his arms strong from the hours he spends still baking for the people of twelve, but I don't know that I wouldn't label him stocky anymore, it seems his upward growth has lengthened his center mass. Unconsciously my eyes make their way to his face. The rounded features my memory has called up are those of his youth, the truth is they gave way to more defined lines and a stronger jaw sometime ago. _How on earth didn't I notice these things before now?_ I wonder in amazement.

"Hey Mockingjay," Haymitch says pulling me from my revelry.

My head snaps up at the code word, "Yeah?" I caution back.

"Just wondering if you think it's hotter here than back home," he says smoothly.

I feel the heat of a blush flood my face. "No, actually I think it's a bit cooler," I return bitingly.

Haymitch smirks and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief. "Here, take this, you're looking a little flushed," he says offering me the folded square of cloth.

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

"Haymitch Abernathy are you actually sober?" Effie interrupts, ending our standoff.

Putting the hanky back in his pocket, Haymitch clicks his tongue. "I'm never complete sober Ms. Trinket" he laughs.

She gives him a playful swat on the arm before coming up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. "I can't believe I'm about to admit this, but I've actually missed you, you old drunk," she says sweetly.

My eyes open wide at this statement and I glance over at Peeta. He laughs quietly and shrugs his shoulders. _I guess it's not just her look that has had a bit of an ov_ e _rhaul,_ I muse.

Stepping back from Haymitch, Effie turns to me. "Hello Katniss dear," she says with a soft smile.

I return the gesture with a smile of my own and envelop her in a hug. "It's good to see you, Effie," I say, surprised by the honesty I find in my own words. Over the time I've known Effie I've grown an affection for her of course, but like my stylists, I viewed those feelings like those I'd have for a pet, but as I stand here I realize something has changed. Perhaps knowing she spent the war as a prisoner of the Capitol because of her affiliation with Peeta and I has softened my heart towards her. Regardless, I am truly happy to see her.

Pulling back, I turn a little in Thom's direction. "Effie let me introduce you to the Mayor of Twelve, Thom Armstead."

"Acting mayor," Thom says shaking hands with Effie. The two are exchanging pleasantries when a scuffle breaks out between a soldier and a Capitol woman with purple hair, pulling our entire group's attention across the platform.

"Let her through she's with me." Effie she calls out, waving the soldier off.

Before I can assess who it is that is joining our entourage, Peeta startles me by sprinting across the platform. "Tova!" he exclaims scooping the girl up in a hug and twirling her about. The word "who" forms on my lips, but no sound leaves my mouth.

"Based on your expression I'm taking it you don't know who that is?" Haymitch asks quietly.

I silently shaking no my head in response.

"Interesting," he mutters.

His response annoys me more than it should and I want to elbow him hard but I don't' get the chance because Peeta has turned and is guiding the girl towards us. I quickly paste on a neutral face while I do a quick inventory of the newcomer. The woman is fair skinned, tall with a slender but curvy build. Her most noteworthy feature is her wavy purple waist-length hair. From across the platform, I had assumed it was a wig much like others I've seen in the Capitol, but now that she's closer I can see it is her natural hair just dyed various shades of purple, magenta, and soft pink. The colors and how they fade from darkest near her roots to lightest at the ends remind me of an evening sunset. The look, despite the unnatural colors, is actually quite stunning alongside her green eyes and pretty face. I take a step back suddenly feeling like a dried up fall leaf with my dark features and burn-scarred skin.

"Ah, friends reunited, how lovely," Effie coos as Peeta and Tova step into our small circle, Tova's face a picture of joy.

My eyes focused on the woman's sparkling eyes as the look up at Peeta and I frown a bit at the word friends. _Friends?_ _How is it that Peeta has never mentioned this person to me? I know everyone Peeta knows...don't I?_

"Katniss, you must know Tova as well," Effie says interrupting my introspection.

"Uh...well..." I stammer.

To my surprise, it's the Tova who comes to my aide. "Actually Ms. Trinket, I've never had the honor of meeting Miss Everdeen, though I dare say, I've heard so much about her I feel like we are already acquainted," she says glancing at me before settling on Peeta's face, a genuine smile on her full lips.

 _Heard about me? From where, the news? War coverage? Games coverage?...Peeta?_ My questioning eyes go to his without my permission. When our eyes meet I find my answer. She is talking about Peeta. My gaze falls from his to the ground as a feeling of betrayal turns a knot in the pit of my stomach.

"Oh really? Well, I have no doubt you two will be fast friends," bubbles Effie.

"I do hope so," Tova says hopefully.

I do my best to look pleasant, but based on the look I'm getting from Haymitch I must be failing.

Thankfully Effie turns the attention from me and back to the situation at hand. She does the obligatory introductions for Haymitch and Thom and goes on to explain Tova's presence. "This dear girl will be serving the as stylist to your delegation," Effie's says sounding pleased.

Haymitch snorts. "You mean we all have to share?" he mocks.

"Things aren't like they were before the war Haymitch so yes, you will have to share," she huffs, having missed the sarcasm in Haymitch's tone. "Actually, we are very lucky to have such a talented girl focusing on just your team, the rest of the delegates will be sharing only 3 stylists! It took some negotiating with the planning committee, but once I took Tova on as an assistant and she approached them with the idea to redesigning Katniss and Peeta's wardrobe, well, they had to agree that our way was going to save them the most money," she says sounding very proud of herself.

A light goes off in my head at Effie's confession. About 3 weeks ago Peeta and I received a notice requesting that we ship our victory tour formal wear to the Capitol along with some current measurements. The note instructed us to bring our own "downtime" clothing, sleepwear and personal items, but that the Capitol would be providing clothing for any events and tunics for the committee meetings. At the time it seemed odd to me, I couldn't understand why they would want our old clothing, but now it all makes sense. The Capitol is indeed changing. Reusing clothing made a year and a half ago would have never happened before the war, but now, now they are cutting corners, saving money.

"Wow, you are quite the negotiator Effie," Haymitch says, the sarcasm so thick not even Effie could miss it. Her mouth turns down in a sad frown.I send my elbow into his ribs. The fact Effie is proud of her efforts and not lamenting the changes is such a gigantic transformation, she doesn't deserve to be ridiculed.

"Don't pay him any attention Effie, he's just hung over," I say shoot Haymitch a warning look.

Thom clears his throat and smiles shyly at Tova and Effie. "Ladies, if you are arranging to make sure I don't look like a fool at these Capitol events, then you are heroes in my book."

This seems to do the trick and Effie perks up a bit. "Well thank you, Thom. You know it not just the clothing we're arranging. Tova and I have also been tasked with arranging for your housing, a chef, and transportation while you are here. Additionally, I have made it my personal responsibility to organizing your daily schedules," she beams. "Speaking of schedules," she says glancing down at her watch, "we need to get a move on it. You all must be tired and hungry from your trip." Turning on her heels Effie searches the platform for a moment, then spotting the Captian in charge, crosses to speak to him.

With Effie gone, the group falls silent and my mind focuses again on the knot in my stomach. I look over and find Peeta staring at me. The look on his face is one of repentance which causes the knot to tighten. _What exactly does he have to be repentant for?_ I worry.

"I think you are going to really like the place we found for you to stay," Tova ventures, breaking our reticence.

"We won't be in the training center?" Peeta asks.

"Well...no. I think the planning committee thought that would be in bad taste," she replies.

Peeta laughs lightly. "Training center sleeping quarters is in bad taste but they send a tribute train to pick us up?" Peeta asks rhetorically.

The pretty girl's mouth falls open in an o and her hand comes up to cover it. "I...I... don't know what to say," she sputters, her face red. Haymitch laughs loudly at her discomfort and her blush deepens.

Peeta gently places a hand on her shoulder and she leans into his palm. "You don't need to apologize. Outside of a bit of lost sleep, I don't think we are any worse for wear," he soothes. Tova doesn't look totally convinced but seems comforted by Peeta's touch.

"The boy's right. As long as this trip doesn't end with one of us fighting to our deaths in an arena, it really doesn't matter how we got here or where we sleep." Haymitch says dryly.

Tova's eyes go wide in shock at Haymitch's nonchalant attitude about the reality of our previous visits. Effie rejoins us, saving Tova from having to respond to Haymitch's flippant statment.

"Okay team, we are on the move," Effie says ushering us towards a cleared staircase at the end of the platform.

As I'm about to descend the stairs, I feel a hand on the back of my arm, it's Peeta.

"Katniss," he says in a low voice.

I look up at him and see a pleading look on his face. "Not here," I whisper. Pulling my arm from his grasp, I make my way to the exit. Behind me, I hear a frustrated sigh and it takes all my self-control to keep myself from turning around to confront him. _Who is he to be upset with me? I'm not the one with secret friends. I'm not the one sharing private details of his life with someone he doesn't know._

At the bottom of the stairs, a long black car awaits, I quickly climb in and claim a seat by a window. Seeking some privacy to deal with my tumultuous feelings I turn so my body is angled towards the glass, my back to the other passengers. The scenery passes as we make our way through town, but I don't register any of it. My mind is too busy fighting a war with its self. I know I need to give Peeta a chance to explain, but I keep replaying the guilty look I saw in his eyes and it just seems to fan the flames of my indignance.

"Katniss dear, are you quite alright?" Effie inquires, pulling me back to the present.

I reluctantly pull my gaze from the window and back to the group, but carefully avoid looking directly at Peeta and Tova. "Um...yes, I'm fine," I answer.

Effie stares at me a moment, tilting her head. "Are you sure?" she asks.

I force a smile. "I was just...thinking...about this coming week," I answer lamely.

She seems to consider my response for a moment before nodding. "So you will come for dinner then?" she asks.

I stare at her blankly, my mind desperately trying to recall the chatter that was going on behind me while I started out the window. Haymitch chimes in, filling in the blanks for me. "Since the chef who will be cooking for us isn't available until tomorrow, Tova here is cooking us dinner tonight," he tells me.

I look over at Tova, she seems on edge. I know it because I've made her uncomfortable. _This isn't her fault_ , I tell myself. "That's very kind of you, I hope it hasn't put you out," I say, managing to actually sound sincere.

"No, it's not an inconvenience at all. I actually love to cook," she says looking a little more at ease. "So you'll come for dinner?" she asks, her green eyes sparking. I look at her and feel an odd sense of deja vu and I start to wonder if I've actually met her before. _Maybe briefly during the victory tour?_ I ponder.

When my answer is not immediately forthcoming, Peeta breaks the awkward silence."Of course, she'll come. We'll all be there," he says.

I blink a few times, tiring to clear the fog. "Yes, of course. Thank you for being willing to host us," I add distractedly.

"Ahhh, here we are," Effie says, peeking out the window over my shoulder. I turn and look out as our car comes to a stop in front of an apartment building. On the front stoop, a small placard reads "City Lights Hotel." While I knew that we weren't staying in the training center, this is still not what I expected either.

We climb out of the car and bid Tova a temporary farewell as she is heading home to prepare for our visit in a couple of hours. Once inside, we stop in the entry at what looks to be a recently constructed desk with a sign hanging above it that reads, "Registration". Behind the desk, is a man with bright green hair and fading gold tattoo's over his eyebrows. Offering us a warm smile, the man comes around from behind the desk to greet us. "Welcome, welcome! Ms. Everdeen, Mr. Mellark, Mr. Abernathy," he says shaking each of our hands. "Mr. Armstead?" he asking holding out his hand to Thom. Thom nods and shakes the proffered hand. "My name is Frederick. I will be serving as your delegations concierge during your stay here City Lights," he says brightly.

Thom, looking confused, glances over at Peeta for clarification. Peeta shakes his head and shrugs, laughing lightly. "Fredrick, you'll have to forgive us, but we don't have anyone who works as a concierge in district 12."

Surprise lights the Capitol man's face, but he taps it down quickly. "Ah, I see. As a concierge, my job is to ensure your stay is as pleasant and carefree as possible. I serve the care of the unit and its inhabitants, so if you have any special needs or requests you can simply pick up the telephone and I will arrange to take care of them for you."

Thoms gives the small man a hearty pat on the back nearly knocking him over. "Wow! Thanks, Fredrick," he says.

Fredrick, in spite of looking the part of a snooty Capitol man, doesn't let Thom's untempered district manners faze him in the least. "Oh, Mr. Armstead, it is my sincere pleasure to serve this team," he says honestly.

Effie glances at her watch and lets out a surprised squeak. "Oh Fredrick, we must get moving if they are to make dinner on time."

"Of course, Ms. Trinket," he states rushing around the desk and retrieving a small yellow envelope. "This way," he says leading us to the elevator. Once inside, he pushes the 15 on the call panel and begins passing keys from the yellow envelope. "Ms. Everdeen, Mr. Mellark and Mr. Abernathy, you will be in suite 1501 and Mayor Armstead and Ms. Kensington will be in 1502. Mr. Mayor, you're still expecting your guest on tomorrow's train correct?" he asks.

A sweet and soft smile spreads across Thom's face. "Actually Fredrick you need to correct your notes, it's Mrs. Armstead who will be joining me," Thom beams. "Miss Kensington and I were married last week."

Thom's joy is so infectious, I can't keep a smile from forming on my own mouth. A week ago Peeta, Haymitch and I had received a cryptic dinner request from Thom and Becca, the only instruction was to "bring the bread". Upon arrival we found out that the dinner was much more than a meal, we were there to witness their toasting.

Effie's eyes widen comically as the elevator door slides open. "You got... married!" she sputters.

"Oh! You're in trouble now," Haymitch teases.

"Haymitch!" Effie says sharply, "Of course he's not in trouble! I just wish I had known is all. I would have prepared better," she laments and begins scribbling frantically in her schedule folder.

Thom waves his hands in front of him and shakes his head. "Please Ms. Trinket, don't put yourself to any trouble. Becca and I will be more than fine with whatever you have already arranged." He states following Peeta and I off the elevator.

Effie, still standing in the elevator car, shakes her head and continues to write. "Adjustments will need to be made," she mutters to herself. All of us, now standing in the hallway, silently watch her for a moment before Haymitch sighs and steps back in to retrieve her. "The world is not going to collapse if one place card has the wrong name on it, Effie," he says gently guiding her out into the hall.

Letting out a resigned sigh, she looks up at him, "I just want it all to be..."

"Fabulous?" Haymitch finishes for her.

She glares at him but a small smile plays on her lips softens the effect. "Fabulous is what I do," she retorts with a toss of her head. This makes Haymitch laugh, hard.

Rolling her eyes, Effie plucks the key Fredrick had just given Haymitch from his hand and slips it into the lock of the room marked 1501. "Welcome Home," Effie says pushing the doors open in a grand flourish.

We pass through a small foyer into a great room that contains a living room to the right and a dining room to the left. In the living room, there are four overstuffed armchairs in dark green and large brown leather sofa set in a cozy configuration in front of a wide stone fireplace. On the opposite side of the room, the dining room contains a long, delicately carved, mahogany table with seating for at least eight and along the wall is a matching sideboard big enough to hold a feast. The decor of the two rooms is understated by Capitol standards, but I find it warm and inviting.

Walking over to the sofa, I let me hand glide along be back. The leather is supple and soft. "This is beautiful Effie!"

"I'm so glad you like it," she chirps. "Oh, Peeta, you must see the kitchen!" she exclaims. Taking Peeta by the arm, she pulls him through a door on the far side of the dining room. Frederick and Thom follow the pair into the kitchen.

Walking over to a large window I ease back the curtain and look out at the city below.

"Not interested in seeing the kitchen, or are you avoiding something in there?" Haymitch asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Haymitch!" I warn in a low voice.

He chuckles, which irritates me even more. "Look here sweetheart, in just under two hours we are going to be sitting around a dinner table with that woman, so I suggest you make time to talk before then or else dinner is going to be awkward as hell."

I have snappy retort on my lips but just then door the to kitchen opens and the group comes spilling back into the great room.

"Okay, so who's ready to see the rooms?" Effie asks.

I take a cleansing breath then turn to rejoin the group. "I for one would love the chance to get cleaned up before dinner, so please, Effie, lead the way," I say gesturing towards the hallway.

Effie leads us down the hall, the heels of her shoes clicking on the dark wood floors as she goes. Stopping at the first door we come to, Effie pauses a moment, her hand on the knob. "I've given the room assignments a lot of thought, I hope you approve," she says, her voice very seriously. Opening the door with a flourish, she turns to me. "Katniss," she says waving me in.

The room is large but not ostentatious. Like the rest of the apartment, the decor is warm and welcoming with its dark brown furniture and cream-colored linens.

"I chose this room for you because of the attached bathroom it is the only one that includes a tub," Effie tells me. I glance in the bathroom and see a large oval tub in the middle room. I'm struck with the realization that this room, would actually be better for Peeta. He's mentioned to me in the past that a soak in a warm bath often helps when his leg hurts. There is, of course, no way that Effie would have known this fact and finding it out after the fact would probably just upset her, so I decided not to mention it and instead decide to offer the use of the tub to Peeta in private.

Turning back into the room, I running a hand over the cream colored comforter as I make over to a large window. Pulling back a long sheer curtain, I take a look out and let out an audible gasp. The window is actually a door that opens up to a large private roof top patio. Immediately outside the door, I see what I can only describe as an outdoor living room. Arranged around an outdoor fireplace are large comfortable looking chairs and couches covered in beige and off-white stripes and dotted with bright teal throw pillows. To the right of the sitting area is a swath of bright green grass decorated with potted trees and brightly colored flower beds. Beyond that, the grass gives way to paving stones that surround a sparkling aqua pool. This is by far the most opulent part of this apartment.

"Peeta you have to see this," I exclaim, forgetting in my awe the awkwardness between us.

Peeta joins me at the door, stopping just behind me. "Whoa!" he exclaims over my shoulder.

"Effie, this is...amazing!" I breathe out.

"I'm so glad you like it Katniss! Now, come, come, let me show you the rest of the unit," she trills, ushering Haymitch and Thom out the door and leaving Peeta and I still staring out at the patio. I hear Peeta shuffle a little behind me as he takes in a long deep breath. "Katniss," he says quietly. Immediately the uneasy feeling from earlier returns, tensing my back muscles. I don't move.

"What, you're not even going to look at me? You wouldn't let me explain at the train station and now, what- you're going to give me the silent treatment? You're being irrational," he states, sounding irritated.

My anger flashes instantly and I whip around to face him. "You've been keeping a secret girlfriend for over a year and I'm the one who is being irrational?" I growl, but immediately wish I could edit my word choice.

Peeta's eyes widen and his mouth falls open in surprise. "Katniss she..." he begins but is immediately interpreted by Effie's sing-song voice from down the hall. "Peeta dear, do come join us so I can show you your room," she calls out.

Running a hand through his blonde curls he lets out a frustrated breath. "This isn't..."

"Peeta!" Effie says, her patients clearly dissipating with each second she waits.

"UGHHH!" he growls, glancing back at the door. "I'll be back," he grumbles, before turning and stomping out of my room.

I stand for a moment listening to the chatter down the hall before closing the door and leaning against it. The mixture of simply arriving back in this city and the revelation and subsequent argument with Peeta regarding his covert friendship have drained me. A soft knock at the door rouses me and reveals a porter with my luggage. With my bags deposited, I open the garment bag that contains a few sundresses Cinna made from me for the victory tour. Pulling out a navy knee length one, I hang it from my wrist and make my way to the bathroom for a shower.

I'm towel drying my hair when there is a tentative knock at the door. _Peeta_ , I think. As I flashing back to the uncomfortable conversation from earlier any relaxation I was able to pull from the hot shower quickly fades. I crack the bathroom door and call for my visitor to come in, then quickly pull on a robe and grabbing my hair brush before padding out into the room. I find Peeta sitting on the bed, back propped against the headboard legs out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

With no preamble, he launches right into the conversation at hand. "She's not my girlfriend," he states matter of factly.

I sigh and sit down at the end of the bed opposite him. "I shouldn't have said she was, that was catty of me and I had no justification," I apologize.

My admission takes him by surprise. "O-Okay..." he stammers.

I look down at my lap and focus on the task of nervously picking at a loose thread on my bathrobe as I work up the courage to move the conversation forward. "How do you know her?" I finally ask, hazarding a look at him.

Peeta clears his throat and gives his response a moment to form before speaking. "I meet Tova at the hospital. She was a volunteer on the ward I lived in while I continued my treatments after the war. At first, we just exchanged small talk, but that quickly turned into chats over her lunch break and eventually she started coming by to visit in her off hours. We just kind of feel into a friendship and it was what I needed at the time. I found it completely intriguing that she didn't know my history. Hell, she was the first friend I had made that wasn't a victor in over 2 years! I was able to say and be who I needed to be in the moment without worrying about how my words or actions might be perceived. I just got to be me when I was with her, and that was incredibly freeing," he explained.

My heart sinks a bit. When I was too weak and selfish to think of anything but myself, she was there to help him pick up the pieces of himself, help him put himself back together. I swallow back a lump that tries to form in my throat and resume picking at my robe. "And why haven't you mentioned her? Apparently, you found time to tell her about me, but I didn't even know she existed. Why?" I ask, working hard to keep the accusing tone in my head from tainting my words.

Peeta is quiet for several long seconds before he quietly responds, "I don't know."

I look up at him, my brow knit together. "You've been home a year Peeta. Have the two of you been in contact with each other since you got home?" I ask.

He nods once. "Yes. A little," he admits sheepishly.

I raise my eyebrows silently demanding clarification.

"Occasional letters and a couple of phone calls," he confesses.

"Well then, it isn't like you forgot she existed, is it? I'm going to need something more than "I don't know," I say feeling irritation being to claw its way up my back muscles.

I know I've hit a never when I see him cross his arms over his chest, but when he speaks his words remain calm and collected. "Katniss, in the first three months I was home I think we probably had a total of 10 conversations, and half of those were me trying to convince you to eat. Between that dynamic and my own struggles to remain sane, please trust me when I say that the last thing I was worried about was bringing you up to speed on my social life," he states.

"Okay...I can see what you mean, those first months were...terrible, but Peeta..." I draw out.

Pushing off the headboard to sit more upright, he lets out a long breath. "Yeah, I know, there's been plenty of time since then," he concedes without my prompting. "I guess, at first it felt...weird, I couldn't figure out a way to bring it up. Then time just kept passing by and it seemed to get harder and harder to find the right time or situation to mention it. After a while, Tova and I's correspondence kinda petered out a bit and I guess I just figured that since she was not likely to turn up in 12 I could..."

"Just keep her a secret?" I interject.

Peeta shakes his head vehemently at me. "No, I never intended for it to be a secret," he beseeches.

Chewing on my lip, I let all he's said percolate. Finally, I look up at him and give him a small nod.

"I am sorry Katniss. I can imagine how I might feel if the situation were reversed," he offers.

"I'm glad she was there for you when you needed a friend," I say softly.

"If you give her a chance, she might be one to you as well," he says hesitantly.

Picking the brush up off the bed I being pulling through my damp hair as I ruminate on the idea. "I think it's going to feel...odd, maybe. She seems to know things about me, but outside the fact that she's the first person I've ever met who can actually pull off purple hair, I know nothing about her."

"You don't feel in control of the situation,"Peeta states matter of factly.

"Yeah...I guess."

"How about you just start with a nice dinner and see where it goes from there," he with a smile.

I smirk at him, but nod in agreement.

"Are we okay?" he asks softly.

I nervously pick at the bristles of my hairbrush, my mind spinning. _Say yes. You don't want to drive a wedge between the two of you over this, do you? This wasn't a malicious act, just tell him it's oka_ y. "Of course we're fine," I reassure him, but even as I do my mind pushes my doubts to the surface _If everything is so hunky-dory_ t _hen why is your stomach still in knots?_

Peeta dips his head and settles his blue eyes on me before reaching over and gently taking the hairbrush from fidgeting hands. "You're going to yank out all the bristles if you keep that up," he says holding it up so I can see the spots where I have yanked the bristles clean out of the brush. Placing the brush on the bed, his hand hesitantly crosses the void between us before landing on top of my knuckles. "Don't be nervous about dinner, okay. Most of the time will probably be filled with Effie admonishing Haymitch for his dining manners so I don't think you will be required to make much small talk, " he teases, his thumb absentmindedly making circles along the back of my hand.

The room suddenly feels warm, so warm in fact I find it hard to think. Pulling my hand from his, I abruptly stand up to put some space between us. Peeta looks up at me with a peculiar expression on his face and I start to feel foolish for jumping up. "I...I need to get dressed," I bluster, attempting to cover my behavior with a plausible excuse. Peeta continues looking at me strangely, and I feel my face begin to flush. "So..." I draw out, gesturing towards the door. Still, he doesn't move. "You probably need to go because..." I say gesturing at my robe.

With this, he seems to snap out of his trance. He's stillness immediately becomes movement. Quickly scooting off the bed he heads for the door but stops short of the exit and looks back at me, a serious expression on his face. "You're my family Katniss. Nothing and no one can ever change that, you know that right?" he asks.

 _Family? Are we a family?_ I wonder, the concept bouncing around my head. "Family," I say trying the word out.

"That's right! Means you can't get rid of me...or Haymitch," he grins. I raise a skeptical eyebrow at him and he laughs. "Hey, every family has a crazy uncle," he smirks.

This breaks the last bit of tension and I chuckle. "Go, " I breath out, "Get out," I say waving him out of the room.

"Okay, okay! I'll see you in a bit," he says then disappears down the hall.

I stare at the vacant door for a second then turn and head into the bathroom. The process of getting dressed and applying a little make-up goes by in a robotic blur, my mind instead focused on the exchange that just took place between Peeta and I. I replay the conversations, analyze his words, and look for meaning in his expressions. After many trips through my thoughts, two words float to the surface of my consciousness: Friend and Family. The two words tug uncomfortably at the now seemingly permanent knot in the pit of my stomach as I try to sort through the jumble of feelings they dredge up. I've never been good with feelings, identifying them or coping with them. The deep dark place I feel into when Prim died, proved just how very much like my mother I can be. I spent months nearly catatonic so I didn't have to acknowledge the pain and heartache. If it hadn't been for Peeta's reassuring presence I might still be sitting on my couch staring blankly at the fireplace. Peeta, who in spite of his own demons and our history, had been there, my touchstone with reality, my shelter when I finally began to come to grips with my losses. _Is he my Family? My Friend?_ I ask myself, but almost instantly answer _, He is both and neither at the same time._ I breathe deeply and put all of my energy into pinpointing the feelings this realization has stirred up in me. _Is this Nervousness?_ No, this unpleasant tightness is something more. _Anxiety?_ I wonder _._ Tova's image suddenly comes to mind. Peeta is friends with Tova, but our relationship is not like the one he described having with her. We're different. Does Tova view their relationship the same way Peeta described? How she looked at him today, is that friendship? _No, it's how Peeta used to look at you... back when he was in love with you,_ my subconscious whispers. My heart speeds up in my chest and my hands go clammy. _Now this is anxiety._ I realize.

A loud knock at my bedroom startles me back to the present. I blink a few times and find my own pale face looking back at me from the bathroom mirror.

The door opens, "Hope you're decent," I hear Haymitch call from the bedroom.

"I'll be right out," I say quickly pinching my cheeks in an attempt to return some color to them.

A soft rap on the bathroom door tells me my time for privacy is over. Pulling open the door, I glare a Haymitch. "You really have serious boundary issues don't you?" I demand rhetorically as I push past him into the bedroom.

He shrugs noncommittally. "You set things right with the boy?" He asks, leaning against the door jam as I gather sandals and the shawl I plan to use to cover my fire-scarred arms.

"We've spoken," I respond, draping the soft blue and cream paisley shawl over my shoulders. Haymitch grunts and I bristle. "It's fine," I grumble as I sit down on the bed to put on the sandals.

He regards me closely for a second, "Yeah, then why do you look like you're about to throw up?" he asks.

I take a moment to gather myself before looking up from my task of attaching the delicate brown sandals to my feet. "Haymitch, have you looked out the window? Do you remember the last time we were here?" I ask, trying to sound outraged. "I hate this damn place, so forgive me for looking a little peaked!"

He looks at me with suspicion. "And dinner is going to be a pleasant experience?" he needles, an eyebrow raised.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Peeta asks, having appeared behind him in the doorway. Haymitch startles and he whips around. A snide remark has just begun to form on his lips when we hear the front door open and the sound of heels on hardwood.

"Team, are we ready to go?" Effie chirps from the living room.

"Yes, we're coming," I blurt out, happy for the interruption.

Peeta steps back, a smirk on his face, and gestures grandly for Haymitch to pass. Haymitch's eyes flick between Peeta and me for a second before he gives up and passes by Peeta with a grunt. Peeta chuckles as he watches him descend down the hall before turning back to me. His blue eyes give me a quick once over and his amused face softens to an easy smile. "You look lovely," he says.

With my burn-scarred skin, I feel anything but pretty. Trapped in his gaze I self-conscientiously tug on thin fabric around my shoulders, trying to cover every inch of the ugly skin.

Closing the gap between us in a few quick strides, Peeta looms over me. "Stop fidgetting," he urges softly. I hazard a look up at him. "You look lovely," he says again, his voice full of sincerity.

I feel my face warm in blush at the kindness of his words. "Thanks," I say quietly.

"Peeta, Katniss, we must be going," Effie calls from the living room, her tone taking on the higher pitch associated with lateness.

Peeta lips turn up in an amused grin, "We better go before only dogs can hear her," he chuckles.

His warm laugh is like a balm to my chapped emotions and I feel my shoulders relax. _He's right here, he isn't leaving you,_ my mind whispers in relief. The thought surprises me, but I don't have time to reflect on it because Peeta has his hand on my shoulder and is leading me out the room towards our awaiting dinner party.


	10. Chapter 10

**Here is my looooooong overdue update. Sorry it took so long but I wrote it twice before I liked it enough to share it. Please note: I'm posting this without a final proof, so if there are errors please let me know. I'm sure I will be making adjustments over the next week or so.**

 **Thank you all for your kind support and encouragement to keep going, those comments really do help keep me motivated :) (**HINT HINT** LOL)  
**

 **Please enjoy: Hugs!**

 _"Come on Katniss don't go," I call out as I jog down the staircase after her retreating form._

 _Coming to a stop on a landing, she glances at me over her shoulder. "I'm not interested in being a third wheel, but thanks for the invite" she mutters before turning for the next flight of stairs._

 _"I thought you were going to give her a chance."_

 _This stops her decent. Her hand on the banister, she stands frozen for a second before turning to meet my gaze with an icy glare. "I came, I ate, I was polite. I asked questions and laughed at her stories. What else do you think will be gained by awkwardly shoving me in the middle of your dessert date?" she asks coolly._

 _My mouth falls open in surprise. Date? I thought we resolved this issue back at the apartment before dinner, but here it is again. "Katniss, everyone was invited to get dessert," I argue, trying to keep my voice calm and even._

 _"But everyone else bailed, why do you think that is?" she tosses back._

 _It's true Haymitch, Thom and Effie had all declined the offer for dessert but for valid reasons. Haymitch and Effie had made plans prior to dinner to meet up with an old games sponsor for drinks, and we all know Haymitch wasn't going to miss an occasion where alcohol is the main event. Thom declined to returns a few calls from district 12, with the time difference he couldn't put them off till later._

 _"There is no conspiracy here Katniss, they just had things that they needed to do. You, however, are free, so why are you running away?" I implore._

 _She sighs. "Peeta... it was kind of obvious that she wanted to spend time alone with you tonight, and I can't blame her, she hasn't seen you in a year. I'm sure she missed you," she says more softly._

 _I shake my head, my frustration growing with each of her excuses. "Actually Katniss, she was really worried when you ran out just now. She's concerned that she's offended you somehow."_

 _A slight frown pulls at the corners of her lips as she drops her eyes to down to stare at the tops of my shoes. "You don't see it," she mummers so softly I can barely make out what she is saying._

 _"I don't see what?" I ask taking a tentative step towards her._

 _At the first sign of movement, her eyes suddenly snap back up to my own. My stomach sinks when I spot the look of determination in her gray orbs, a look I've become well acquainted with over the years. Nothing good generally comes after she's committed to that look. "Please reiterate my thanks for a lovely dinner, and tell her that I think she was an exquisite hostess, but that I have developed a headache so I'm going to pass on dessert," she states calmly. Then, without waiting for further comment from me, she turns on her heels and bolts down the stairs._

 _As she disappears around the bend in the staircase I take off in pursuit. "Katniss!" I call out after her. As I round the banister I skid to stop to avoided colliding with a wall of purple fabric. Hanging directly in front of me from ceiling to floor, wall to banister is what appears to be a thick velvet curtain. Instinctively I reach out to touch it. It's incredibly soft but doesn't give easily under my prodding. Beyond the obstacle, I hear the sound of Katniss's foot falls as they move further and further away. Panic begins to fill me. With all the strength I can muster, I take hold the fabric and begin pulling. "Katniss, Katniss, wait!" I yell breathlessly. I feel like I wrestling the mass for hours before I finally locate an opening, but there is no time to celebrate the victory; instead I push through and launch myself down the flight of stairs beyond._

 _My heart pounds as I rush down endless flights of stairs. I call out her name over and over until my throat is raw. A stitch forms in my side and I'm forced to stop to catch my breath. "I've lost her", I choke out, but just as the words leave my mouth I spot her hand on the handrail about a floor below me. I sigh in relief. "Katniss, stop!" I plead launching myself down the stairs again._

 _As I'm rounding the landing the floor beneath my feet suddenly turns soft. I nearly pitch head first down the stairs as my feet search for purchase. I regain my footing, but my eye's struggle to understand what they are seeing. Stretched out in front of me, the entire next flight of the stairs is covered knee deep in lavender and pink silk pillows of every shape and size. I let out an irritated scoff but trudge forward, taking a tentative step down. I nearly end up face down. Grabbing the railing to my right, I hoist myself to an upright position and manage to make it safely, if not speedily, down to the bottom of the pile of pillows and onto the solid ground of the building's entry way. Spotting the exit, I let out a sigh of relief and sprint out the door, but as my feet it the sidewalk, I see Katniss disappear into the back of our hired car. The car speeds away into the fading evening light before I can even order my feet into pursuit. " Dammit, Katniss!" I grunt, laying a hand over my still pounding heart._

 _Behind me, the door opens and Tova joins me on the sidewalk. "Katniss decided not to join us?" she asks. I look over at her, ready to deliver Katniss's excuse, but the words die in my mouth when my eyes meet her green ones. The warm evening breeze stirs up a piece of her long purple hair and swirls it around us as I stare transfixed by the liquid movement in her emerald pools. The anxiety and concern that was filling me only a few short moments ago, starts to fade away and I find the only thought left weighing on my mind is how beautiful she is._

I bolt upright in bed before my eyes are even open. My heart is pounding wildly in my chest and my body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "Real or not real? my mind screams. Much too slowly reality beings to seep its way into my frantic consciousness. I'm in the Capitol. This is a hotel room. That was a dream, I tell myself, but still my heart races on and my stomach tightens to point of nausea. With my hands clenching blindly at the sheets of the bed as I wait out the seconds that will determine if my mind will go spinning into a flashback, but as the seconds turn to minutes I realize with relief that I've avoided the tumble in the dark abyss of my damages memories. I let out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding and my muscles start to relax.

"It was just a dream," I tell the empty room.

The games had reeked their own special kind of horror in my dream life, but the tampering Snow's henchmen did to me brought a whole new level of terror to my nights. For nearly a year I lost the ability escape my nightmare because upon waking they would trigger a flashback. There were days that I didn't surface from a delusional state for hours or unless someone, usually Haymitch, finds me and helped pull me back to reality. Now two years out and hours upon hours of intensive therapy later, I've begun to regain the ability to simply wake up most of the time, but the fear conditioning is still deeply rooted and I often wake in a panic, waiting for the flashback to seize me. Nevertheless, my doctor keeps tells me this is incredible progress and that in time I may rid myself of trigger dreams altogether, but I find it hard to put much hope in that eventuality, after all, two and a half decades and living life in the bottom of a liquor bottle hasn't done much to ease Haymitch's nightly torture.

Bringing shaky hands to my face I grind my thumbs into my eyes and shove my musings away. Taking a cleansing breath, my mind slips seamlessly into my long practiced game of real or not real.

Real: Katniss came to dinner at Tova's with our group.

Real: Tova planned her dessert and coffee course at a bakery a few blocks from her home.

Real: Haymitch and Effie left to meet up with an old Capitol friend, an ex-sponsor of District 12, for drinks.

Real: Tom declined to join because he had District business to deal with.

Real: Katniss declined the invitation without reason and unceremoniously fled Tova's apartment.

Real: I tried to convince her stay and join us for dessert.

Real: She claimed a headache and chose to return to the hotel.

Not real: Katniss didn't say dessert was a date.

Not real: Katniss made no accusations regarding Tova's motives, though I did sense there was more to her leaving than she claimed.

Not Real: endless stairs, velvet curtains, stairs covered in pillows. _Pink and purple pillows?_ my mind asks. _And the curtain was purple too?_ I grasp at the tendrils the dream, trying to piece together a meaning I feel is there, but as dreams do, the sharpness of the feelings and images slowly begin to fade and my fatigue returns. Sleep can be torture, but so is the lack of it and I know with the week ahead of me I need to at least try to get a couple more hours. Slipping back under my duvet, I stare up at the ceiling and mindless begin counting the slow rotations of the ceiling fan above my bed for a while before forcing my eyes closed and trying to turn off my mind. My body relaxes and I'm slowly sliding towards sleep when an image of Tova, her green eyes shining and her sunset colored hair wrapped around us, bursts into my mind in vivid color.

Slipping back under my duvet, I stare up at the ceiling and mindless begin counting the slow rotations of the ceiling fan above my bed before forcing my eyes closed and trying to turn off my mind. My body relaxes and I'm slowly sliding towards sleep when an image of Tova, her green eyes shining and her sunset colored hair wrapped around us, bursts into my mind in vivid color. _Beautiful_ my memory whispers.

My eyes fly open in surprise and instantly the uneasiness I felt upon waking earlier returns. Something liking to panic begins to fill my chest as the word beautiful replays in my head. _Of course Tova's beautiful, any man would notice that,_ I reason with myself, but soon as the thought surfaces I know that my distress goes deeper than a simple observation of Tova's physical attributes. My brain begins to whirl but even as my subconscious starts to bring the truth to surface, I shove it away. Throwing off my blanket, I quickly climb out of bed and head straight for the kitchen where I can bury my apprehensions in dough.

Reaching across the counter I grab a large metal bowl filled with the pale dough and check the clock on the wall; the final proof is complete. Tossing the tea towel draped across the top aside, I'm about to dump the contents onto the counter when I hear the kitchen door behind me swing open quietly. Glancing over my shoulder, I spot Katniss peering in at me from around the door, a hesitant look on her face. I suspect she is concerned about how we left things when she fled from dinner last night, but I'm not in the mood to drag it all up again, so I offer her a smile and greet her with a cheerful "Morning," hoping to put her at ease.

This seems to work because she responses with a quiet,"Good morning," and slips silently through the door into the kitchen. Joining me at the counter, she takes a look around at bowls and pans scattered about and glances up at the clock. "When did you get up?" she inquires.

I shrug. "Well these cheese buns are just about to go in the oven and I started them first, so I'd say about an hour or so. What time is it anyway?" I ask.

"4:30," she says as she hoists herself up and onto an empty bit of counter. Lifting the corner of a checked tea towel, she peeks into a bowl sitting to her left. "What's this going to be?" she asks.

"Wheat bread," I say offhandedly. Glancing over at her, I take in her sleep disheveled form perched next to me. Her hair, loose from it usual braid, hangs in a tangled mess of waves around her face and for pajamas, a pair of wrinkled pink cotton sleep shorts and my gray sweater. A small smile threatens to tug at my lips, but I squelch it. I thought for sure in the weeks leading up to this trip I would eventually find the garment freshly laundered and hanging my closet, but clearly, she has decided to keep it as I suggested. It looks good on her, the gray looks nice against her olive skin, I think, my eyes from drifting to her tone legs dangling off the counter. "It's early, you didn't sleep well?" I ask distractedly.

She sniggers at this. "This from the man who's been up since 3?

I chuckle. "It was probably more like 3:45, that's just bakers hours," I deflect, which earns me an eye roll. "Really, though did you sleep okay?" I ask, carefully keeping my tone light.

Her shoulders go up in a shrug, "Dream-wise, not as bad as I had feared, but I kept waking up. The sounds, the smells, the bed...they're so different here, I couldn't seem to get comfortable."

"Homesick?" I suggest.

"Yeah...maybe," she returns softly.

A smile creeps across my face as a realization forms, "Well Ms. Everdeen, I just might have something to help with that," I say. Dropping the dough in my hand onto the counter I dust my hands off on my apron and reach behind her to retrieve a bag and hold it out to her.

Glancing at the sack, then at me, she lifts one of her long brown eyebrows at me in an unasked question.

"I think I may have inadvertently bought something last night that may help you with your homesickness. Have a look," I suggest nodding at the bag.

She eyes me suspiciously for a moment, but her curiosity wins out and she takes the bag from me. Pulling open the top, she stares down into it the depths for a second before reaching in and extracting a light blue candle. Bringing it to her nose she takes a tentative sniff, after a second a small smile quickly spreads across her face. "The mountains in springtime," she says, looking up at me.

"That's what I thought too," I agree. "There's other stuff in there too, soap, lotion, bath oil," say poking at the sack with my pinky.

She glances back into the bag, then up at me, her face alight with questions. "But where did you...why..." she stammers, holding the candle out feebly.

I shake my head, "Let's just say that I shouldn't be trusted out on the town without the car service," I laugh going back to my task.

Katniss's eyebrows creep up towards her hairline, "Oh no, you're not getting off that easily," she smirks.

"It's kinda boring story," I mutter, hoping that she'll let it go. Between the unspoken reasons about why she felt she left before dessert and the remnant of my dream still lingering, I can't seem to shake a feeling of culpability.

It's 4:45 ain the morning, I can't go hunting and I hate Capitol TV, so your boring story will have to do," she counters, lifting the candle to her nose for another sniff.

"Katniss..." I draw out.

"Peeta," she tosses back mockingly.

I'm had, she's not going to let the subject drop. Squinting at her, I give her my best annoyed look and hand her one the small balls of dough I've been creating. "Cheese is over there," I say pointing at a small blue bowl.

Looking down at the dough and over at the cheese, she gives me a dubious look and I can't help but laugh at her sour expression.

"What! Cheese buns don't make themselves," I chuckle and grab a chunk of cheese. "You help with these, I'll embarrass myself with the tale of my evening." I offer.

Pinning me with a smirk, she gives in and a grabs a chunk of cheese. "Show me what to do."

With a quick tutorial, we settled into the task of stuffing our dough with cheese. After a few long moments of struggling at her task, Katniss clears her throat, "So spill it," she demands.

Blowing out a long breath, I gather my thoughts. "Well, apparently I've learned nothing following you around in the woods for a year," I snort.

Placing a cheese bun in the pan, she quirks an eyebrow at me. "Wait, what does that have to do with dessert?" she asks.

The mention of dessert seems to tighten the knot already residing in my gut. "Well...actually the adventure didn't start until after that," I tell her.

"Oh I see," she says falling silent for a moment. "But how was it...dessert I mean?" she asks carefully keeping her eyes on cheese bun in her hands.

I glance over at her, then back down at the roll I'm forming. "It was a nice place, respectable baked goods. I wish you would have come with us."

"Yeah, I wish I hadn't...um...you know had a headache," she stammers.

I hazard a glance and her and find her looking uncomfortable. "Yeah, I know, just saying you were...missed," I tell her trying to ease the tension I see in her face. "I brought you some petit fours, they're in the fridge," I add. This earns me a small smile.

"I love those, thank you," she offers but then continues by adding, "but don't think cake is going to deter me from the story."

"I wouldn't dream of it," I laugh. "Last night after desert I decided to forego the car service in lieu of walking back to the hotel, " I tell her. "I realized my folly when after 20 minutes when not had I failed to find the hotel but then couldn't find my way back to Tova's either."

A laugh bubbles up, but to her credit, she swallows it back. "Why in the world did decide to walk?" she asks unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

I glare at her playfully and shove another ball of dough into her idle hands. "It was a nice night, weather-wise, and I just wanted to decompress the events of the last few days. I thought I had a good mental map from the drive over...clearly I was delusional," I laugh.

This time she lets her laugh join mine, "but how does candles and bath products fit in?" she finally manages to ask.

"Chocolates, a lunch invitation AND bath products," I correct.

Katniss's eyes widen, "What?!"

I shrug, "I'm a sucker, what can I say." At her exasperated look, I continue, "By the time I admitted to myself I was lost, most of the shops in the part of town I was in were closed, so didn't think twice when I found a store front with the lights on. I should have realized before I walked in what I was heading for, I was raised in the business district for goodness sake," I exclaimed.

Katniss gives me a puzzled looked. "What do you mean," she asks

"A shop opened hours after others around it have closed for the night is a generally not doing it for convenience, generally it's due to cash flow issues," I explained. "There were a few times, generally in the winter months when things were leaner in the district, that I remember my folks staying open late hoping for just one sale. The look the clerk gave me when I asked for only directions was the same one I saw on my father's face when someone would only buy a single dinner roll those nights." I tell her.

An affectionate smile pulls at her lips. "So you bought stuff."

I nod, "Two large bags filled to the top, but get this, then when I went to pay Honey, the clerk...well owner actually, suddenly she felt bad for taking money from me. She kept calling me a "war hero", I just wanted to crawl under the counter and hide," I lament.

Placing another completed cheese bun in the pan, Katniss hesitantly reaches over and places a hand on my arm. I'm surprised by the move since she tends to avoid touching me, but I quickly school my features to avoid making her gesture seem unwanted. "You are a war hero," she offers quietly.

My eyes fall closed at the statement. "I don't feel like that's who I was during the war. A completely batshit crazy lunatic, yes; hero, no."

"You are a hero!" she interjects vehemently.

My eyes pop open to find her staring at me, her gray eyes unwavering. "I'm not comfortable with that term," I redirect.

Her expression softens a bit, "I can appreciate that is was a difficult time for you, but it doesn't change facts Peeta. You saved lives in 13 when you warned us about the bomb attacks, you fought your way through the Capitol with our squad...you stood by me during my trial..." she says her voice cracking. She takes a moment to steady her voice and continues, "Plus, I will point out that it's bound to come up in the speeches and ceremonies we're undoubtedly going to be forced to sit through so you best start getting used to the accolade," she smirks, giving my arm a squeeze before withdrawing her hand. I immediately miss her touch and ache to reach out to her. Fear of flashbacks are ever present, however, so decide not push our luck and instead focus my hands on my task. Taking a cleansing breath and level my gaze at her, "I can't avoid it hu?"

She shakes her head. "You're Peeta Mellark! Tribute, victor, Capitol heartthrob and better half of the star-crossed lover's team, so no, I don't think they are going to let you fade into the background,' she teases as she shoves another chunk of cheese into a ball of dough. "Now, tell me about this lunch invite and then direct me to where you've hidden the chocolates, those are worth being side tracked for," she says, looking suspiciously around the kitchen.

A smile pulls at my lips at her unexpected playfulness. Between the oddness between us most of yesterday and the stress on both of us being in the Capitol again, I'm somewhat relieved that we are sharing witty batter and not barbed comments. "Well, after going back and forth about payment, I finally talked her into a compromise so sorts. If she agreed to take my payment, then I would expect her to join me for lunch."

"You pay and you buy her lunch? That sounds about right for the Capitol," she snickers.

I chuckle as well but shake my head, "No, it isn't like that. While she was packing up the chocolates I found out that she was a Capitol rebel," I clarify.

"Really?"

"Yeah! Her now husband, who makes the chocolates, is originally from District 2. She met him and his family years ago when she started importing their candies for her store and they fell in love. A few years ago she decided to petition for a marriage license, but not only was she denied, but the courts then went after the family claiming they were trying to manipulate a Capitol citizen so they could immigrate to the Capitol. Her now father-in-law spent six months in jail while she battled it out on their behalf. After that, she says she woke up to reality and decided to join the rebellion. She served in the militia during the war! I'm actually looking forward to lunch, I'm really interested to hear more about her and her husband's experiences."

"Well I might just have to meet these folks, they sound like interesting people!"

"I think they would like that a lot," I tell her placing the last cheese bun in the baking dish. "I wanted to avoid going out in public during the day, so they are coming here at noon if you want to join us," I add.

She nods in agreement then turns her attention to our now full tray of cheese buns, "What's next?"

"Thirty minutes in a 375-degree oven should do it," I say depositing the tray into the already warm oven.

Katniss's only response is the growl of her stomach at which we both begin to laugh. "I don't think I can wait till then," she snickers.

"You don't say," I smirk.

"I think I might need something to tide me over. Hum...what could I have?" she says laying a thoughtful finger along her chin. Her eyes take a moment to search the kitchen before landing on the box of chocolates to my left. "Oh wait, you did mention chocolates didn't you?" she ask much too innocently.

"Chocolate isn't a breakfast food," I guffaw, giving the box a small protective push away from us.

She glances at the box then at me, mischief sparking in her gray eyes. I give her my most winning stage smile and shake my head, "Not. For. Breakfast." I say enunciating each syllable. This earns me a raised eyebrow. "And who's going to stop me...you?" she taunts, her eye's never leaving mine. I shrug and attempt to look unconcerned, but I can feel my muscles tightening in anticipation. A silence falls between us as we stare, unblinking, at each another. Who moved first I don't know, but suddenly we are both lurching for the box of sweets, our laughter cracking the silence.

Still perched on the counter, Katniss slides across the smooth surface easily and leans past me to just far enough that her fingers grazing the box. Although I'm closer to the target my amusement slows my reaction time and I fumble for the box, sending it sliding further away from us both. "Damn you Mellark," Katniss cackles as she starts trying to pull her legs up onto the counter so she can gain leverage and crawl past me. I make my move swiftly. "Oh no, you don't," I snort, placing my hands, one on each of her thighs, pinning them to the marble slab beneath her. Instantly Katniss becomes still as a stone under my hands. Our laughter and giggles of just seconds ago evaporates leaving only the sound our labored breathing to fill the silence.

 _Take your hands off her you fool,_ my brain screams, but yet they remain on her warm thighs as if glued in place. I hesitantly bring my eyes up to look at her and I'm utterly unprepared for what I find. She is staring at me, eyes wide and unblinking, through a thin veil of disheveled hair that flutters softly with each panted breath that escapes her slightly parted lips. She is vulnerable but not afraid, which isn't something I have seen her in years. It's intoxicating. Suddenly it's not just our breath in the air, but something else. Something...intangible. My mind frantically searches for a comparison but comes up blank. I have no point of reference for which to compare this to. My hands instinctively tighten around her legs, willing her not to move. Later, when I replay this moment over in my mind, I will always wonder what would have happened next if it hadn't been for the sound of the front door flying open and Effie and Haymitch's bickering voices breaking the spell.

The sound startles us both. I immediately pull my hands from her and she jumps down from the counter without any preamble. She's mindlessly brushing at the back of her shorts and sneaking a self-conscience glance up at me. My heart is pounding and my thoughts tumble together in a loud roar in my head, _What was that? Think idiot, was she freaking out? She doesn't like being touched, she's afraid of you...and rightly so, but she looks okay, doesn't she?_ Before I can settle on any one answer, the arguing pair from the entryway bursts through the kitchen door.

Haymitch is the first through the swinging door. He spots us but keeps moving towards the fridge. "I will make us breakfast woman!" he growls over his shoulder at Effie who is right on his heels. "No need to spend a months worth of stipend on some dumb fancy restaurant," he grouses.

Effie, the embodiment of manners, stops briefly and offers Katniss and I a warm smile in greeting before snipping back at him. "Really Haymitch, could you exaggerate a bit more, I didn't quite catch what you were getting at," she scoffs. "For your information, breakfast is the least expensive meal you can purchase in a restaurant. And since when are you worried about money? It's not like you're spending your victor's stipend on new clothes," she says giving him a once over with her eyes.

Pulling eggs and bacon from the fridge, he turns and glares at her. "My clothes are fine, perfect for my life of drinking and tending geese. And this," he says holding up the items from the fridge, "is free, paid for by our generous hosts. Trust me, sweetheart, free food always tastes better. Now sit down," he says nodding at a stool at the island counter.

She glares at him, but it doesn't quite make it to her eyes, instead I see thinly veiled amusement. As I observe this two things suddenly strike me. One, she's missed him, like really missed his presence in her life. And two, that they just came in the door together...at 5:15 in the morning. Possibilities from the mundane to the propositus fill my head, which is a welcome relief to the running internal dialog of "what the hell just happened," of moments ago.

Effie tsk's and moves to sit down. "Since when can he cook?" she ask me in a mock whisper pulling me from the back to the present.

"It's a form of self-preservation," Haymitch mutters as he rummages through the cabinet for a frying pan.

Katniss's eyes flutter to mine for a moment before turning to Haymitch. "I can make eggs," she scoffs indignantly.

Effie looks between the Katniss and Haymitch and then at me. I shake my head. "Nope, not getting in the middle of it," _I laugh, joining her at the island._

Having located a pan, Haymitch moves to the stove and sets it on top. "Congratulations, you made scrambled eggs once, why don't you give us an encore Princess," he says handing Katniss a bowl and whisk.

Katniss gives him a dirty look, but sets the bowl down on the island next to me and turns to grab the eggs. As she sets to cracking them into the bowl and Haymitch settles bacon into the pan with a sizzle, I sneak a peek Haymitch and take note that he's still in clothing from yesterday.

"How was drinks with Ms. Vanklaus last night?" I venture.

"Like I said, anything free tastes better, that goes especially for liquor," he says, his eyes focused on the sizzling pan in front of him.

Effie lets out an annoyed sigh. "Really Haymitch, must you be so evasive about everything?" she asks retorcially before turning her eyes on me. "The evening was quiet lovely. Mrs. Vanklaus was alway such an ardent supporter of twelve, even in through the difficult years..."

"Which were all of them until you two came along," Haymitch interjects.

Effie rolls her eyes at him but seems to be holding back a smile. "Yes, well that is what makes her even more extraordinary, doesn't it? So many were fairweather supporters," she rebuts.

"And one of the only ones still alive," Haymitch says glancing over his shoulder at her, a sad expression on his face.

Effie nods morosely. "I am glad she made through, she always was one of my favorites."

"How do you have favorite sponsors, it's that an oxymoron?" Katniss asks, picking up the whisk.

"Capitol rebels came in all shapes and sizes sweetheart," Haymitch answers, his gaze finding Effie's. Small smile forms on her lips at the comment. My thoughts spin for a long moment for my brain supplies the words I'm looking for, Effie Trinket a rebel?

"Wait, what...what was that," I stammer, drawing a line between Haymitch and Effie with a finger.

Katniss, who has been absorbed in her task and missed the exchange, looks up curiously. "What?" she asks.

"Just now, when he was talking about Capitol rebels, he looked over at Effie and she smiled," I explain.

Katniss's eyes open wide and she drops her whisk. "Effie...you were a rebel?" she asks in awe.

"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly...I just," she begins but is cut off.

"She spent the war in a Capitol prison, what did you think she was in there for, not dressing flamboyant enough?" Haymitch interjects sarcastically.

Katniss sputters for a moment then responds, "Well, I thought is because she was on our team I guess."

"That was a big part of it," Effie confirms, the fingers of her right hand subconsciously running over a faint but jagged scar at circles her thumb and runs across the top of her left hand. I wonder suddenly how she got it, and about the others, she is most like hiding with make and clothes. I shudder as my mind fills with images of Effie stripped of her wigs and dress and withering in pain at the hands of peacekeepers.

"Don't forget about the charges of conspiracy and treason," Haymitch says, pulling me back from the gruesome thoughts playing out in my head.

"Conspiracy? Treason? But...you liked the games," I say trying desperately to connect the two images of her converging in my brain.

"You expected her to what, flip Snow off from the reaping stage?' Haymitch laughs at me over his shoulder.

Effie nervously runs her hands over her shirt. "Haymitch is being kind. I wasn't a rebel, not in the way the three of you were," she says, pinning Haymitch with a look that tells him not to interrupt her. "I did hate the games. I hated from my very first year as an escort. You never forget the moment that challenges everything you know," she says looking at us sadly. She seems to take a moment to collect herself before continuing. "It was the 65th games and I had just come into the mentor's lounge to retrieve Haymitch to talk to a sponsor when Rachel died, beaten to death by the male tribute from two," she says a far off look in her eyes. "I remember as they lifted her lifeless body from the arena all I could hear was her mothers inconsolable weeping the reaping. It was in that second, everything I had ever known, everything I was taught to believe...changed."

"If you hated it, why did you stay?" Katniss asks abruptly.

"Oh dear, you don't just quit being an escort. It is considered an honor to be chosen, to leave for any reason expect a promotion or to start a family was a dishonor that your whole family would endure, a dishonor that could ruin them for generations. I couldn't do that to my family, so I chose to make it mean something, at least to me. I choose to serve the children, to honor them by doing everything in my power to help prepare them so that maybe one day one might go home," she says.

Like a fogged mirror wiped clean, I suddenly feel like I'm seeing the real Effie clearly for the first time. She was always there, I just chose not to look through the fog of wigs and outfits to see the real her. "I had no idea," I say around a lump in my throat. "You knew about this?" I ask, looking over at Haymitch who is taking the finished bacon from the pan.

"You don't work with someone 10 years and not figure something like that out," he answers, coming over to take the bowl of eggs from Katniss.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" I ask, eyeing him. He nods at Effie and turns to dump the eggs into the hot pan on the stove.

"I asked him not to say anything," Effie answers solemnly. "I may have hated the Capitol and the games, but in the end, I contributed nothing to the cause. Hating the system didn't save lives," she says sincerely.

"You're wrong, hating the system made you fight harder to say every tribute...to save Katniss and me," I reason. "Not all acts of war require shooting a gun, Effie."

Effie's eyes fill with tears. "Oh Peeta, it's so good to see the real you again," she mummers as a single tear escapes the confines of her bottom eyelashes.

I give her a small smile and choose not to contradict her. I just sincerely hope that I won't have an episode in front of her and ruin her dreams that the old me has returned.

Grabbing a napkin, Effie quickly dabs away her tears and sits up straighter on her stool. "I think I've had quite enough of this depressing topic for the moment," she says with a wave of her hand, "How's breakfast coming?" she asks.

"I'm workin' as fast as I can Princess," Haymitch grumbles under his breath.

As we wait for breakfast to be served an awkward silence descends upon our group. Effie fidgets, Haymitch scoops scrambled eggs into a clean bowl and I get up to check the cheese buns in the oven. As I peek into the oven, I consider suggesting that we going over the schedule for the day when Katniss chooses to break the silence in a way that only she can. "So Haymitch, where did you sleep last night?" she asks unceremoniously.

I nearly drop the tray of buns in my hand, shocked by her guileless. Placing the pan on the counter, I turn to find Katniss with an expression of childish amusement on her face. Haymitch, on the other hand, is anything but amused. Still facing the stove, I can see the muscles of his back tense against his shirt.

"Effie, do you know where Haymitch went after drinks with Ms. Vanklaus?" she asks innocently. When Effie just stares at her with wide eyes, Katniss continues, "Haymitch? Did you pass out...somewhere?"

I blink, totally astonished by her pressing of the subject. Granted I was wondering the same thing just a few minutes ago but I would never go so far as to confront him, at least not in front of everyone.

When Haymitch turns around his face is surprisingly passive. "Drank too much; slept it off on Effie's couch," he returns nonchalantly. A rebuttal is on Katniss's lips, but before she can speak, Haymitch crosses the kitchen, puts the bowl of steaming eggs on the table and pulls out an envelope from his back pocket. "Here," he says handing her the crumpled letter, "dark and moody left this for you at the front desk." Katniss goes stone still, her needling of Haymitch gone silent, which was his intent I'm sure.

 _Ugh, Gale already?_ I groan inwardly. I know Katniss has agreed to see him while she here, but I'm not thrilled about the prospect. Scratch that, I hate it. I would like to think my dislike of the situation is totally altruistic, concern over Katniss's well-being, but the truth is, I can't stand Gale Hawthorn. Since Katniss told me that she agreed to meet up with him while we are here in the Capitol, I've spent a lot of time contemplating my contempt for him. I wanted to be sure that my issues with him are real and not a product of my hijacking. I did my fact checking with Haymitch and mulled over war records and transcripts and in the end, I found my feelings unchanged.

War has a way of stripping away the superficial to reveal the real person. Naive, impulsive and narcissistic all amplified by war. He created bomb traps to kill with maximum efficiency and did so without a moments consideration of the fallout. When bombs start flying and Prim ended up dead, Katniss destroyed, it was only then that he found regret in his actions and I can't abide this. I don't like him, but he isn't trying to fix things with me so I hold my tongue. Katniss has to make a decision about him on her own, without my interference. I will just watch and be there if she needs me to catch her if he sends her falling.

Haymitch retrieves plates, forks, and the bacon and returns to the table. "So the Captain tryin' to make amends?" Haymitch asks, nodding at the envelope.

Katniss shrugs. "I can't speak to his motive, but this more about me anyway, I'm trying to be a steward of a good life."

My eyes snap up to hers when I hear my own words proclaimed.

"Sweetheart it doesn't take much imagination to know what his motives probably are," Haymitch says as he dishes up the egg for everyone.

She rolls her eyes and takes his proffered plate of food. "It's been a year, life goes on Haymitch."

"I got to know him well enough in 13 and he was pretty set on the idea of you and him together so you shouldn't underestimate that factor in your whole "let's be friend" plan," he says shoving a fork full of eggs into his mouth.

Absentmindedly she wraps a tendril of hair around her finger as she seems to consider what Haymitch has said. After a moment of pondering, she lets the coil of hair slip from her finger and she picks up a fork. "I can't control or change what he thinks or feels, but I do have the ability to affect change for myself," she says, her earnest gray eyes beseeching me to understand her choice. "I want to choose love over hate, laughter instead of tears and offer forgiveness instead of seek revenge."

My chest fills with warmth, and I can't help but hope she finds what she is looking for. Curling my fingers around my glass and I hold it aloft in front of her. She follows suit and holds her glass up to mine. "For Prim," I say, gently touching my cup to hers. A sad smile creases her face, "For all those gone too soon," she returns. Haymitch and Effie lift a glass at the sentiment and we all take a give a moments of silence to the long list of names of those the war and the games took.

Once the moment has passed, we return to our breakfast and being chatting over the most recent news of the friends we are still blessed to have with us. News exhausted and our stomachs filled, Effie reaches over and pulls out her schedule book. Haymitch groans at the sight of it, but clears the table in front of her all the same, a fact that doesn't escape me. I feel a smirk start to pull at my lips but I grab my glass and take a sip of my juice to cover it.

Effie nods her thanks at Haymitch then gently lays her book down on the table, one hand resting on the cover in reverence. "It is going to be a very busy few weeks, and it all starts today with the arrival of the remaining victors and the welcome dinner tonight," she says sounding like the escort of our past. "Shall we go over the schedule?" she asks very seriously. Katniss and I nod and Haymitch grumbles, "I think I'm gonna need a drink."

"Don't you even think about it," Effie warns. Haymitch glares at her for a few counts before giving in and settling for his glass of juice. Effie, looking please with herself, turns her attention back to the subject at hand. Lifting the cover of the schedule with a flourish, she glances down and skims the first page before lifting her bright blues back up to us and saying, "Let's begin."


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi ya** , **everyone! So this may be the fastest I've turned around a chapter in...ever LOL. I know that some of you are going to groan when you see that this chapter is written from Tova's POV, but I beg that you stick with me. I do have a plan *laughs evilly and rubs hands together* :) I wrestled with whether or not to write it for a while now, but it kept coming up as I've been fleshing out my plot outline, so I decided to take a leap of faith and trust you all will come with me on the adventure.**

 **This chapter was strongly influenced by the song Everything Has Changed. It's been on my writing inspiration song list forever, and for a long time I heard Peeta and Katniss's story in it, but as my story developed I began hearing Tova's voice in it, now that's all I can hear LOL. If you're not familiar with the song here is a youtube link to it: watch?v=E3EshSpcTUE &list=PLCSF5tA0g5sSNFwy1thiMBZ8xPXAkLoVv&index=8.**

 **Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to the exquisite pain of unrequited love and the best friends who see you through it.** A special **thanks to my BFF JTL for being my friend and my family, especially during the time in our lives when we were both still looking for the loves that would change our paths forever. I love you ;)**

 **Thank you all for the amazing support, I really do appreciate it more than you know. Please continued to send me your thoughts and critiques. I do read them and take them to heart. Huggles everyone!**

The bright light of morning is filtering through my lace curtains and warming my face, pulling me from my slumber. With a groan, I yank my duvet up over my head and snuggle deeper into my pillow.

"I keep telling you to put up a blind in here, or do you like living as if you're on the surface of the sun?" I hear a graveled deep voice ask as the bed dips next to me.

I feel the covers move behind me and an arm wrap itself around my waist. I sigh contently and snuggle back into the larger warm body behind me. "I like it bright," I murmur. Feeling a tickle on the tip of my nose, I pull open my eyelids to find the pink and fuchsia end of one of my curls waving in front of my face.

"Yes I know all about your love of bright things, how else could you explain this hair?"

Swatting at the hand holding the hair, I roll over and push the blankets up to form a tent so I can see my assailant. Look back at me with a smug smile on his handsome face is my dearest friend and roommate. "Jeromy, my hair is fashionable," I argue playfully. "You should consider doing something with yours," I say tousling his sandy blonde hair. "I can see aqua or dark blue to match your eyes," I smirk, knowing that this would goad my childhood friend. Living in the Capitol had never been his dream like it had been mine, so he's more resistant to the quirks of the place. He's living here reluctantly after having been promoted to buyer and Capitol lesion, for the at the textile factory he had been working at for the last three years. While his move here wasn't his first choice, it had been a blessing to me. Just prior to his arrival I had just decided to leave my job in a fashion house to strike it out on my own. While I beleive it was the best choice for my creative self, my financil self was hurting. I was struggling to make rent despite the various side jobs I took on. Jeromy's arrival had not only helped me keep my apartment but had brought much-needed companionship back into my life.

He scoffs, "And go Capitol? No way," he grunts pushing the blanket down and sitting up.

I join him, snuggling into his side against the headboard. "Jer, you do know that at some point you're going to have to acknowledge you live and work here, right?" I ask.

"Neither of those things require ridiculously colored hair."

I raise an eyebrow and move my head to look at him, "Ridiculous?"

He rolls his eyes in exasperation, "I mean on me! I'm just...too district for Capitol fashions. Unlike me, however, you wear the fashions not the other way around," he says flip a lock of my hair at me.

"Not according to my mother," I grumble, recalling my visit home when I went to district eight to help Jeromy move. Mother spent the better part of my visit lecturing me about how she thinks I'm losing myself to the whims of the Capitol and how she should have never let me move here because now that it has its "hooks" in me I would never come home.

I feel Jeromy's chest rise and fall in a silent laugh and I elbow him. He grunts. "What! I don't agree with her, but it was funny seeing her turn all red!" he says playfully. "You'd think she's be used to it by now," he says his tone turning serious.

"She has good reasons for hating this place, I guess," I mutter thoughtfully. Dark memories threaten to push their way to the surface but I diligently push them back and change the subject. "So you came in late last night, your date must have gone well," I say with a wiggle of my eyebrows at him.

"Nah, Bise turned out to be a big dull dud," Jeromy says running a hand over the scruff on his chin.

Pushing away from him, I sit up to face him, "Yeah? Too bad, he seemed nice."

"He was nice. He was also boring. So very, very boring," he says with exasperation. "All he could talk about was fabric and in a monotone none the less!"

"He is a designer, he was probably just trying to connect with you," I counter.

"I considered that, so I tried to change the subject, but he kept circling back to wool and silk. I just, I can't do it, I can't. Textiles are my job, not my life," he proclaims adamantly.

I bite my lip in thought for a moment, "If it was bad why did you stay out so late then?"

"After dinner, we said our goodbyes, but since I wanted to give you your space so I went to a movie," he says with a mischievous smile.

Scoffing, I toss the covers back and climb out of bed. "I told you, you were welcome to join us. I want to introduce you to everyone," I say sliding my feet into my slippers.

Grabbing my hand, he stops me from fleeing the room and the awkward conversation I know he has on the agenda. "First of all, I will meet them all tonight at the event and secondly, I told you that you needed time with Peeta on your own. So I made myself scarce," he tosses back at me.

I roll my eyes at him, "It was a dinner party for six, it's not like I planned on getting him alone," I return.

Jeromy's eyebrows raise in surprise at my last statement, "So you did get to spend time alone with him?" he says sounding hopeful.

"Well..."

"You did! How was it?" he asks excitedly.

A small smile pulls at my lips, but as I replay the night before it falters. "It was nothing," I dismiss. Pulling my hand out of his, I pad out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. I'm pulling the basket out of the coffee maker when Jeromy joins me at the counter.

"What happened?" he asks softly.

I silently fill the filter with coffee grounds as I try to figure out how to explain the evening. "Dinner was okay. Food came out perfectly and everyone seems to really like. Effie brought me the lovely bouquet of flowers," I say pointing the vase perched on the breakfast bar. "I really like Haymitch. He's crass and doesn't care what people think, but I can see how much he really does care for them all," I start.

"And Katniss?" He asks knowingly.

I sigh. "She was...pleasant, I guess. She complimented the food and asked some questions, but she was pretty quiet most the night." I answer.

"But?" he asks taking the glass carafe from the coffee pot and filling it with water, then dumping it into the reservoir on the pot.

"But when I told everyone that we would be going to Gluttony for desert, things kind of fell apart. Haymitch and Effie bailed for another meeting they set up and Thom left to do some work. When Katniss realized it would just be Peeta, her and I going, she suddenly found she had a headache and ran out the apartment." I say, flipping the coffee pot on.

Crossing his arms across his chest, he gives the information a moment process before asking, "Was she just trying to give you and Peeta some space maybe?"

I consider the possibility, then shrug. "Um...I don't know. There seemed to be something else going on between them. It was super uncomfortable." I lament.

"Do you think they are an item?" he asks gently.

"I'm not any clearer on that today than I was the day he boarded the train to go back to twelve," I sigh.

Jeromy blows a long breath and runs a hand through his hair. "He went to dessert with you?"

I nod and reach over to take two mugs off a shelf over the sink.

"Well, he didn't bail with her, that something. How was it?"

"Nice, mostly. He was a bit distracted at first, but once we got a latte and a piece of cake, he seemed to relax and we got to do some catching up. I just wish we had had a little more time." I respond.

"Did you at any point talk about them the internship or about your uncle?" he asks.

I shake my head and let a shameful, "No," fall from my lips.

"Tova! I thought at least you'd tell Peeta. You know the longer you wait the bigger the chance is that it's going to come up and bite you in the ass," he warns.

My throat tightens as the secrets force their way up, trying to invade my consciousness but I push them away. I have far too much on my mind and too much to accomplish this morning to dwell on my bad choices. I give Jeromy a curt nod. "I'll deal with it," I promise him.

Jeromy stares at me for a moment, sizing me up. "It's your hide if you don't," he finally says dismissively. Grabbing the fresh pot of coffee he quickly fills up our mugs and hands one to me. "So, let's see, I've gotten the dinner and dessert play by play and I've adequately guilted you into doing the right thing, so it time to get to the important stuff... How'd he look?" he asks with a wink of the eye.

I bite my lip and feel my cheeks begin to glow red. Taking a sip of my coffee, I leave the kitchen, and my impatient looking roommate, and head into my workspace.

Following me, Jeromy unceremoniously drops himself into a club chair in the corner and perches his coffee cup on his knee. "Well?" he asks dramatically.

Approaching a mannequin I currently have draped in a dark midnight blue suit coat, I run my hand gingerly over the soft fabric. This is Peeta's coat is for tonight's reception. I have a few minor tweaks to complete before I head over to start prep later this morning. I pick up a measuring tape but pause, before laying it along the arm of the jacket. "He's even more handsome than I remember," I finally manage to say, peeking up at my roommate.

A warm smile schools Jeromy's features. "And you still have feelings for him?" he presses.

I close my eyes and picture Peeta's handsome face smiling at me and feel a familiar flutter in my stomach. When I first meet Peeta our relationship had been purely platonic, but over the weeks of his recovery, my feelings shifted, though at the time I failed to recognize the signs until till it was too late to do anything about. I still remember the moment the realization hit me. I was standing on the train platform watching his train disappear into the distance, the still lingering warmth of his peck on my cheek under my fingertips when it all came crashing down on me like a wave. I cared about him, maybe even was starting to love him, and he was gone. I was a wreck for weeks after he left. When his first letters arrived and we started talking on the phone, I clung to the hope that he might also be feeling the same way, but the words never came and slowly I began to think that we would never be anything more than just friends. Then, I read in the paper about the upcoming district conference and my hope reignited. I contacted Effie Trinket and inserted myself into the planning committee. Now he is here, my chance is here, and I'm scared to death.

"Yes," I finally admit.

At this Jeromy's warm baritone laugh fills my workroom. "You have to tell him this time Tova. If you don't go for what you want and he leaves again, you're probably going to get another chance," he says.

I open my eyes and look over at my friend, "What if what I want is something he can't offer me?" I ask softly.

He considers me over the brim of his cup for a moment. "I don't know if there is a single person on this planet who will not grapple with that question at least once in their lives. Love isn't for the faint of heart."

I try to imagine the conversation with Peeta and groan. Flopping down into the chair next to Jeromy I bury my head in my hands. "Are you sure you're gay? It would be so much easier if I could just date you," I mutter between my fingers.

Jeromy responds with a ruckus laugh. "Your mother would be thrilled if that were the case wouldn't she," he cackles, eluding to my mother desperate hope that he and I would someday marry. "If I were into skirts we would have been married years ago and you would have missed out on the life you have here, a life you really love," he smiles as I continue to mope. It's not that want Jeromy in a romantic way, but because things with him are just so easy and natural, I long for that with someone I can be romantic with. Putting his cup down on the floor, he levels his gaze at me, "Look, fate can be a bitch sometimes, but at least we were dealt the hand where you and I get to be best friends," he says sweetly.

I feel tears prick my eyes, "No, we get to be family," I say reaching a hand out to him. Taking it, he pulls me from my chair and onto his lap. "Yes, you're right, family. I'll always be here for ya Tov. And for the record, I think your great love is still out there waiting for you," he says kissing my temple.

I cuddle into him, soaking in his warmth and support. "Peeta?" I ask, my voice small.

He shrugs, "Don't know, you'll have to find that out for yourself," he says poking me in the side.

I wiggle as he makes contact with a ticklish spot. "I guess I better finish the jacket then," I say a smile finally finding it's way back to face. Jeromy give's me a long hug before pushing me out of his lap and towards the mannequin.

"Damn right! This isn't just for Peeta, but for the dollar, dollar, so snap to it," he says snagging his cup up. "Speaking of money I best get myself in gear, need to call the factory this morning. I want to be done early today so I can prepare to be your dashing escort this evening," he says with a bow.

I give him a smirk and wink. "I'll be back here by four thirty to get ready myself. We need to be in the car and on the way by six," I tell him.

He pauses for a moment next to me as I start measuring the sleeve. "Yes, yes, you've given me the schedule four times. I'll be ready," he says planting kiss to my cheek before disappearing down the hall.

"By six Jeromy, no later," I yell before turning back towards the jacket and start pinning up the sleeve. My mind wonders to my conversation with Jeromy, but as the possibilities begin flooding my mind I reach over and turn on my music player to drown them out. There is only one thing I need to think about right now and it's this sleeve.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello lovely's! So I waited for a long weekend (at least it might be for some here in the US who may be getting Monday off for Presidents Day) to post this whopper of a chapter for your consumption :) We are back to our core group with this chapter, so I hope it makes up for the Tova Chapter I posted last LOL! As always, please read, review and follow, I love your comments and suggestions and consider each a tiny little treasure! Have a wonderful weekend and if you're in the upper midwest of the USA, enjoy the AWESOME weather we are getting! HUGS!**

Dazed is how I feel when Effie, Haymitch in tow, finally exit the kitchen. Staring mindlessly down at my now cold eggs I poke at them with a fork, my mind spinning.

"Can you believe that was only the schedule for the next week?" Peeta asks.

I look up and shake my head. "I stopped listening after the first half hour, so I'm pretty much going to be wandering about aimlessly in the streets of the Capitol next week," I admit.

"I don't think you'll need to worry too much, it's not as if Effie's going to let you ruin her reputation," Peeta grins, looking up at the clock. "I still can't believe that took over an hour to get through it, though. On the bright side, we get Sunday's off!"

"Oh really? I guess that came up after the first 30 minutes," I smirk. "What else did I miss?" I wonder aloud.

"Well there was the whole thing part about you being dropped down on a platform in the Mockingjay suit to open the first district meeting on Thursday, you heard that right?" he asks inquisitively.

My mouth falls open in shock. "Really?" I choke.

Peeta grins at me mischievously. "No, not really," he snorts.

Picking a piece of gelatinous egg off my plate I throw it at him. "You're mean," I grunt, trying very hard not to laugh.

He quickly stands, avoiding my assault and saunters of to the counter. "I'm going to warm up one of these, you want one?" he asks holding up one of the cheese buns we made earlier. A glance at the bun in his hand brings immediate recall to the incident we had on the counter before Haymitch and Effie came in. My questions must be clear on my face because Peeta's laid back demeanor disappears instantly. Very carefully, he turns and places the roll on the counter.

"Let's not make a big deal about it," he says without any preamble.

Sucking my bottom lip in between my teeth, I gnaw on it for a few seconds. "I'm sorry," I venture.

Cautiously, Peeta moves his eyes from the now abandoned cheese bun back to me. "Sorry? For what?" he asks his brows knit together.

I answer his question with one of my own, "You felt a flashback starting, right?"

His eyes light in understanding and a soft chuckle escapes his lips. "That's what you're worried about?" he asks.

I'm taken aback. "Of course I am! I mean, I know that lately, we've been...um..." I stammer, feeling self-conscience all of sudden.

"Touching each other?" he offers, his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," I whisper.

He nods his head and is quiet for a moment but I can see his thought spinning behind his eyes. "You're right we have had a little more contact over the last month or so," he agrees. "But..."

"This morning, were you on the brink of a flashback?" I blurt out in a rush.

"Do you mean in general or..." he trails off, his eyes going to the glistening marble counter next to him.

I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow, feeling a bit annoyed by his evasiveness.

"No," he finally states. "And for the record, I didn't feel close to one any of the other times we've touched in the last month either."

I'm stunned by the admission. "Are you su..sure?" I stammer.

It's his turn to give me an incredulous look. "I think I'd know," he says the corners of his lips tugging upward.

My thoughts go in a thousand directions at once. _He can touch me without flashbacks? How? Why didn't he tell me before now? If it wasn't a flashback I saw in his face earlier then what exactly transpired on the counter?_

I settle on a question, "Do you think that it's a permanent change?" I ask.

"Don't know," he answers honestly.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. Touching for us is reckless...dangerous, but I can't deny that I'm equal parts as elated as I am afraid. But what if it's just a fluke or what if it causes his treatment to stall? "You should talk to Dr. Aurelius about this," I suggest.

"I did...I mean, I have. I contacted him a few weeks ago when I noticed things changing. His hypothesis is that this is a step in my recovery process, but he hesitated to say what it means or how it will play out over the long term."

"You've suspected something for three weeks and never said anything?" I ask, feeling annoyance begin to bubble up.

He takes in a long breath and blows it out slowly. "I should have said something, but I was afraid I'd...jinx it," he stammers.

"That's very scientific of you," I return dryly.

"Isn't though?" he smirks.

Silence falls between us, the air heavy with unasked questions. "What happens now?" I finally ask.

Locking his blue eyes on me, he takes a step closer and holds out his hand to me, "We test our hypothesis," he says, his voice serious.

A lump forms in my throat as I look down at his proffered hand, "We still need to be careful."

"Agreed. We probably should only experiment when there are someone within shouting distance, preferably Haymitch, since he knows what to do if things go south. I don't want to put you in danger." He says softly, his eyes earnest. After a beat he gives me a playful smile, "You know Haymitch is just out there," he says, nodding his head towards the kitchen door.

Glancing down at his outstretched hand, I feel my heart speed up in my chest as I flash back to what feels like a hundred different memories of our hands laced together in moments of worry, fear, and friendship. I try to focus on those memories, but my own brain is traitorous and quickly slips from thoughts of his hands to those of his arms. I slide far too easily to the memories of the nights I spent wrapped safely in his embrace. When the dull ache that always companies such images begin to rise up in my chest and I chastise myself for my selfishness and refocused my attention on Peeta's upturned hand. Taking a calming breath, I slowly bring my hand up to hover over his, "Tell me if I need to move away," I say, my words catching in my throat.

His eyes soften, "I will. I promise," he returns, his voice low and raspy.

My fingers brush across his warm open palm and are on their way to curl around his large hand when Effie's high pitched voice breaks the intense quiet of the kitchen, "Katniss, Captain Hawthorne is here to see you," she announces from the doorway. I look over my shoulder at Effie, then back to Peeta. I give him an apologetic look but he shrugs it off with a stiff smile and turns his attention back to his recently abandoned cheese bun. "I'll be right back," I offer. He glances over his shoulder at me and holds my gaze for a moment, "I'll heat you up a bun," he says, with a half-smile.

"Katniss, you shouldn't keep a guest waiting," Effie admonishes.

I startle at the sound of her voice, surprised she's still standing in the doorway. "Yes, of course," I mumble. With one final glance at Peeta, I turn and follow her into the living room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I silently make my way into the living room and find Gale standing looking out the window. His back is to me and I can easily see the tension in the muscles of his shoulders. I pull myself more upright and lick my lips, "Your note said I should call you at your office today," I say. He startles but quickly recovers before turning around. His eyes seem to take a quick inventory of me before he paints a half smile on his lips. I raise my chin at him and tilt my head, "Effie would say it's bad manners for you to show up unannounced, especially before I've had a chance to respond to your letter." I say in my best Capitol accent.

"Good thing I don't care about what a Capitol escort thinks then, hu?" he says hotly.

Great, not only has he side stepping my lame attempt to break the ice but he has gone right into insulting people I care about. I let out a little sigh and shake my head. I'm not in the mood to argue with him, I'm just glad Effie left to run errands and can't hear him. Reaching into one of my long sleeves where I've stashed his note, I work hastily to retrieve it, but it only ends up tangled in the knit of my garment. "I just got your note this morning," I mumble.

He watches me for a moment, his eyes lingering on the sleeve I'm battling. "You know Catnip if you wear your own clothes this wouldn't be a problem," he says, his voice strained.

My hand becomes still at the comment as I remember that the last time I saw him I was also in this sweater, Peeta sweater. He wasn't keen on fact then either. I feel myself bristle, but I tap it down. "I know you didn't come all the way over here at eight in the morning to give me fashion advice," I say, warning in my voice.

His features soften a bit and he opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of the kitchen door opening draws his attention away. Instantly his eyes grow hard. I glance over my shoulder and find Peeta standing at the table a teapot in one hand, a plate of baked goods in the other.

"Good morning," Peeta greets, his voice carefully neutral. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Gale's jaw tighten. "I thought since it was early you might not have had any breakfast yet. Would you like some tea and a cheese bun or cinnamon roll?" Peeta offers.

I make eye contact with Peeta and see no malice in his gaze. He's extending an olive branch, but a glance over at Gale tells me he's working hard to keep his tongue. The situation is a powder keg. I clear my throat and Gale's eyes snap to mine. "Tea?" I offer, gesturing to the table. He glances from me to Peeta and back again. "Yeah, okay," he agrees reluctantly.

We arrange ourselves at the table while Peeta sets out tea cups, plates, and forks. "Do you take sugar or milk in your tea?" he asks as he works.

When I don't respond, Gale realizes that the question is directed at him. "Both," he grunts. Peeta nods and turns to retrieve the sugar bowl and creamer from the buffet behind him as I make quick work of fill three cups with the hot brew. Without preamble, Peeta douses one cup with milk, then places the cream and sugar in front of Gale. I take the tea with milk for myself and quickly distribute the other two cups to their owners, before sitting down and gingerly wrapping my hands around my warm cup.

Gale sits quietly for a moment watching me as I sip my tea. The silence is awkward and I start to feel uncomfortable under his gaze, so I reach over and grab the plate of baked items. Holding it out to him, I nod for him to take one. "If I were you, I'd go for the cinnamon rolls, as I didn't have a hand in creating them," I suggest with a smile.

"You…baked?" Gale exclaims, taking a cheese bun and eyeing suspiciously.

"I helped stuff them with cheese. Peeta did the actual bread making," I confess.

He glances up at Peeta, his eye's narrow. "You know you shouldn't let this one cook right?" he says, his voice guarded, but not unfriendly.

Peeta manages to nod in affirmation but his body is shaking in silent laugh. "Oh I wish Haymitch was in here right now," he snorts.

Gale's eyebrow quirks up, but he doesn't join Peeta in laughing at me. I let out an exasperated sigh and shove a piece of cheese bun in my mouth.

As Peeta's laughter dies down, the room grows silent once again. Anxiously, I begin fidgeting with my now empty tea cup.

Grabbing the teapot, Peeta holds his hand out for my cup. As he works to refill it, he subtly glances over at Gale then back to me, silently asking if I want him to stay. I smile gratefully but give my head a tiny shake. Handing my cup back to me, he clears his throat and stands up. "Well, I have a mess to clean up in the kitchen, and I'm sure you two would like to catch up. Let me know if you need more tea," he says. Then without further ado, he turns and disappears into the kitchen.

Gale's gaze stays focused on the kitchen door for a few seconds before coming to meet mine. I offer him a meek smile and finally his shoulders release some their tension. "I should have waited for you to call," he confesses.

"It's a little late to worry about that, is it not?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. He doesn't return my attempt at lightning the mood, instead, he gazes becomes serious.

"I guess I was anxious to see you, little afraid you'd changed your mind since I saw you in in Twelve," he confesses quietly.

My heart aches a little at the state of our friendship. This would have never been a question in his mind before the war. I reach across the table and take his hand. "I didn't change my mind," I assure him.

He seems to consider my answer before nodding his head. "So, no training center, you must be happy about that," mutters looking around the room.

"You have no idea," I sigh, sipping my tea.

An awkward silence falls between us as we both pick at our food.

"So…" I venture, "How's your mom…and the kids?" I ask.

Gale glances up at me, then back down at the roll on his plate before speaking. "Mama's good. She's got a job as a clerk in a general store. Rory's in upper-grade classes and hates it. Keeps tell me that he would be done with school if he were in twelve, but mom still makes him go. He really hates Two. I actually see him moving back to Twelve when he's old enough. Vick a totally different story, he loves school. He seems to always have his head in a book. He says he wants to teach History." He says finally look up at me with a proud smile. "And Posey has grown so much, I don't know if you would recognize her if you passed her on the street. She smart as a whip but is givin' mama a run for her money. Always pushing the limits," he says, his voice full of affection for his little sister.

"Vick a teacher…wow!" I marvel , "He wouldn't have had the opportunity back home," I say wistfully.

He shakes his head in agreement. "Would have been a miner like the rest of us," he agrees.

"Makes some of what happened worth it," I sigh.

"Fighting oppression for the stake of our rights as humans made it worth it," he counters.

I feel myself bristle but push it down. Our history has proven to me that Gale and I have different ideologies bout war, there is no reason to start a fight about it. Swallowing tightly, I give him a small nod.

He must see my discomfort because he look away and quickly changes the subject. "Mama and the kids are coming for the memorial unveiling next week. You'll have to join us for dinner so you can catch up with them," he suggests.

My eyes go to the ceiling trying to recall the schedule from this morning and if we talked about that event at all, but I draw a blank. I hold a finger up to Gale and call out to Peeta. A few seconds later he appears, a dish towel in hand. "Did Effie say anything about a memorial unveiling next week?" I ask.

"Wow, you really weren't listening were you," he teases, tossing the cloth over his shoulder.

I roll my eyes at him and gesture with my hand for him to continue. He snickers under his breath but proceeds. "Yeah, she mentioned it. It's next Friday and that there is a dinner to follow."

"When is your family arriving?" I ask Gale.

"Friday in the morning and they're here through Sunday," he returns stiffly.

Since I truly have no idea what the next week holds beyond tonight's reception, I look guiltily back up at Peeta for guidance.

He rolls his eyes theatrically at me. "Saturday there is a work session scheduled for all delegates, but that's done by 3 pm and we have Sunday's off…remember? Perhaps I should write it all down for you," he offers with mock sincerity.

"Why ever would I need that when I have you?" I ask with saccharin sweetness, batting my eyelashes at him.

Peeta snorts and tosses his head back in a hardly laugh. My laugh quickly joins his and I revel in the peace I feel. This is the Peeta that Snow tried to strip away from the world...from me. Moments like these are growing in frequency, but are still much too sporadic for my liking, so I make it a point to cherish them when they happen.

Gale scoffs and the spell is broken. Peeta and I fall silent. My eyes snap over to the offender and find him glaring back at me. I pin him with a hard stare to which he rolls his eyes in annoyance. My anger flashes so hot I feel my cheeks go flush. "Peeta, can you give Gale and me a moment alone please?" I ask, my icy stare not leaving Gales. He flinches.

"Uh…sure," Peeta says hesitantly then silently slips back into the kitchen.

Putting my hands on the table I slowly push my chair back and stand. "Let's gets some air," I demand. Then without so much as a glance to see if he is following, I head for the patio exit in the hallway. The cool morning air greets me but does little to help calm my racing heart. When I hear his boots on the concrete behind me, I spin around and shove a finger in his chest. "I thought we had an agreement," I growl.

Gale doesn't let my fury intimidate him, he simply crosses his arms and plants himself solidly in front of me. "Yes we did, and I'm keeping it. I didn't say anything to him. I even ate his damn rolls," he grinds out.

My irritation quickly turns to anger. My fists ball up and I know I need to distance myself from him. Turning on my heels, I march over to the edge of the pool. Looking down in the aqua blue depths I try calm my fury.

After it's clear that I'm not coming back, Gale gives up his stand-off on the patio and comes over to lean against the patio railing just past the end of the pool. Taking a couple of deep breaths and turn in his direction. "So that's how it's going to be, you keeping to the letter of the law but not the spirit of it?" I ask. He stares at me a second, then lets his eyes drop. "Because if your plan is to groan and snort over every little interaction I have with him, then maybe this wasn't a good idea," I spit.

"No…please don't Katniss. Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he pleads.

I look up at him and shake my head, "No you're not!" I toss back. "The only sorry because I'm calling you on your crap. You clearly don't regret your actions," I shout. Swallowing hard, I tame my voice bring it back to reasonable volume, "Look, I already told you back in twelve that I'm not going to mediate or be stuck in the middle whatever pissing contest you image you have with him."

Shoving his hands in his hair, he growls and stomps towards me until his well within my personal space. My instinct is to retreat, but I stand my ground, tilting my head back to look up at him. "What do you expect from me? Hu?" he demands rhetorically. "You want me to be happy that you've made a life with him? Happy that he gets to make you laugh and knows how you like your tea?" He asks his voice turbulent. "Why should I be glad that he's in your life and I'm out?"

I open my mouth to speak but I'm so shocked by his outburst that the words get stuck in my throat. Haymitch's voice rings in ears, "I got to know him well enough in 13 and he was pretty set on the idea of you and him together." I shake the thought way but suddenly Gale's closeness is suffocating. I go to take a step back, but he catches me by my bicep. "That next step would be a doozy," he says, nodding his head behind me.

I glance back and find the pool at my heels. "Thanks," I mutter. Extracting my arm from his grasp, I navigate way from him and the pool and go over to the railing he just abandoned. I look out over the city and try to find the right thing to say. After long moment he joins me, but this time gives me a few feet of personal space.

"Katniss, I...I...should not have said that..." he stammers, running a nervous hand along the back of his neck.

I glare at him. The fact he believes he has a right to have any feelings at all about my life or choices irritates me. I don't owe him an explanation, nor should I be made to feel bad because he feels left out. I bit back the curse words on the tip of my tongue, and choose to focus on the issue at hand. "The most basic answer to your first two questions is yes. I've started piecing my life back together and Peeta is a big part of that. That is not going to change," I state pointedly. He frowns but remains quiet. "As for you being "out of my life", isn't that what we agreed to work on?"

He's eyes narrow at my clipped tone. "So, you're with him now then?" he says flatly.

I let out a low groan of frustration and look back out at the city. "Gale you don't get to come back into my life in the same place you left off. I've had a lot of time to think about this and I now realize that didn't owe you an explanation in the past, and I sure as hell don't owe you one now!" I say, my voice escalating.

Gale slaps the rail, causing it ring. "Damn it, Katniss," he growls.

The clang causes me to jump a little. He curses at himself under his breath, but I refuse to look over at him. This isn't how I wanted things to go. I really do want to mend the hurt between us, to forgive, and maybe find a place in my life for his friendship again but now I'm second guessing my judgment. "Maybe you should go," I say in the calmest voice I can muster.

The silence between us a palpable. After a long stretch of it, I hear him take a deep breath and clear his throat. When he speaks his voice is much calmer. "You're right," he breaths out. "You're absolutely right. I don't owe me anything. I should have come here today with the best intentions and reasonable expectations."

I hazard a gaze over him. Locking nervous eyes with mine, he licks his lips and continues. "If you give me another chance, I'll work a lot harder to keep my insecurities in check," he offers hopefully.

Looking up into the bright blue morning sky I let his plead resonate and consider my options, but I become distracted when I hear a patio door behind us slide open.

I turn to find Peeta standing in the door, a giddy expression on his face. "Hey Katniss, sorry to disturb you, but you're not going to believe who just showed up for you," he says.

My sour mood evaporates at the site of his goofy grin. "Who is it?" I ask my interest peaked.

Peeta shakes his head. "I think they'll hurt me if I ruin the surprise," he laughs, looking back over his shoulder briefly.

I glance over a Gale, then back a Peeta. "Just give me a minute, I'll be right in," I say, knowing I have to deal with the situation at hand, my curiosity be damned. Peeta nods and closes the door, leaving us to the silence of the patio once again.

Straightening my back and squaring my shoulders, I turn to face Gale and find a mask of concern. "Gale, I meant what I said in twelve. I will not discuss my relationship with Peeta with you. I will not play mediator, either. And just to be clear, you should know that I've had a similar conversation with Peeta and he has agreed to the same expectations. I just need to know if you're willing to try to abide by these simple rules going forward," I ask. "And I mean really try. That includes no groaning, grunting or huffing under your breath," I clarify.

His face lightens. "I will try harder," he promises.

I nod and fervently hope he means it because another conversation like this is not likely to end favorably for him. "Then, yes, I'd like to have dinner with you family when they are here. Since I'm not super clear on my schedule, as I'm sure you surmised, you'll have to give me the day to get it sorted out. I'll try, however, to have a couple of options ready when I see you at the reception tonight," I offer.

"That works," he breathes out in relief. We stand awkwardly for a moment before I make a move towards the door and my awaiting guests. "Are you free for lunch today?" he suddenly asks in a rush.

I pause and look over at him. "You came here this morning to ask me that didn't you?" I ask knowingly.

He smirks and shrugs, "Just excited to see you," he offers sweetly.

I have an urge to hug him, but I refrain. Considering all that's taken place this morning, I think it would send mixed messages. "I'm looking forward to hearing more about your life too," I admit. "But..." I trail off, glancing at the door.

"But, you can't do lunch," he says trying hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

I nod. "I've already agreed to something over lunch today," I say, intentionally keeping Peeta's name from the statement. "And it sounds like I have other unexpected visitors," I grin, gesturing towards the door.

"The next few days will be like this for you?" he asks.

"Probably," I laugh thinking of Effie's long list that I managed to block out during breakfast. "But, I know I have Sunday's off, so why don't we plan lunch for Sunday," I suggest.

"It's a dat...plan," he says correcting his wording as he goes.

This makes me laugh, which I find strange since only a few minutes ago I was considering having Haymitch bodily remove him from the premises. "Well, I need to go in," I say glancing towards the door.

"Oh, yeah, of course," he says. Moving quickly ahead of me, he intercepts me at the door and pulls it open for me. I offer him a grateful smile and step out of the sunlight into the hall.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As soon as I'm through the door, I'm immediately encased in two sets of familiar arms. My face splits into a large smile. "Flavius?! Octavia!?" I cry, completely stunned. They release me after a moment, but each keeps a hand on my arm.

"Surprise!" Flavius yells.

I chuckle and hug him tightly once more. "Surprise indeed," I say, tears forming in my eyes. Pulling away, I take a turn at hugging Octavia. "What are you doing here?" I ask, taking the moment to look them over. Flavius is nearly unchanged from my memories of him before the war. The biggest difference is his hair. Gone are the corkscrew curls, in their place a much more coiffed and subtle flip. Octavia, on the other hand, has not returned to her pre-war look. No longer is her died skin green nor are her nails three inch long. She has not returned to wigs of gaudy lights and colors, instead, her shoulder length hair falls in pretty waves around her face, which is made up but not nearly as dramatically as I remember. She looks fresh, pretty and young.

Flavius laughs loudly, "My dear, we are here to do what we do best of course," he says fluffing the orange bouffant hairdo.

"But I thought there wasn't money for prep teams," I say, recalling what Effie told us about the stylist issue for other delegations.

"Oh, there isn't dear, we volunteered," Octavia says patting my arm sweetly. My eyes go wide. My prep team, my self-involved pets...volunteered? For no money?

Flavius scoffs at my shocked look. "There is no way we are going to let you, or Peeta, go out without proper grooming," he admonishes. "In short, we're not going to let your split in and chewed nails ruin our reputations," he teases, plucking a long strain of unruly hair and holding up to me as evidence. I literarily snort out in laughter at this and pull him back into a crushing hug. He pats my back affectionately. "We're your team, we wouldn't leave you high and dry," he says softly into my ear.

A tear escapes my lashes and falls unhindered down my face and onto his shoulder. Sniffing, I pull away. "I'm glad you're here, I was wondering how I was going to manage on my own. Not much to dress up for in twelve," I admit. As the surprise begins to wane, I realize the group is one short. "Where is Venia?" I ask, swatting at a stray tear.

"You haven't heard?" Octavia asks. I shake my head. "She got a job at a resort in four last year and ended up falling in love with one of the locals. She got married two months ago!" she beams.

"My goodness!" I exclaim.

"Okay, okay, enough, we can fill you in as we get you back to beauty base zero," Flavius say, taking me by my arm. "Goodness knows, we're going to have plenty of time," he says conspiratorially to Octavia.

"Katniss," Gale calls from behind me. With my surprise visitors, I nearly forgot he was here. I turn to face him. "I'm gonna go," he says his eyes drifting to Flavius and Octavia.

"Alright, I'll walk you out," I say. Looking to Peeta I ask, "Can you show Octavia and Flavius where my room is so they can set up?" He nods and sets off for my room, my team in tow. Turning to Gale, I start for the front door.

"Your prep team...I bet you're thrilled," Gale says sarcastically.

"I am actually really happy they're here," I return nonchalantly.

He snorts and rolls his eyes.

"You never have understood them," I sigh. "Regardless, you need to be nice to them," I warn, stopping at the front door.

"Yes, I know," he mumbles.

I consider him for a moment, then give him a nod. Turning the knob, I pull open the door.

"I'll see you tonight," he says.

"Tonight," I smile.

And with that, he heads out the door and down the hall.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cocooned in warmth, my body floating free, I take in a deep breath, appreciating the soft lavender scent filling the bathroom. Baths were not a luxury I grew up enjoying. They were lukewarm at best and purely functional, certainly not something a Seam resident would intentionally prolong. An image of the small corrugated steel tub Prim and I used to wash in comes to mind and I shiver involuntarily. Taking a deep breath, I submerge my head under water letting the warm bath water completely envelop me. I like the way the world around me is muted when I'm on this side of the water's surface. Too soon, however, I hear the bathroom door open and feel a hand on my knee.

Pushing my way to daylight, I take a cleansing breath when my face greets the cooler air of the bathroom. A soft towel brushes the end of my nose and I reach and take it, dabbing my eyes.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Octavia says.

I finish drying my eyes and hand her the towel. "My tub at home isn't this big, I can't sink completely down into like this," I smile at her.

"In that case, I feel even worse cutting your time short, but your lunch has put us behind," she grins, holding a robe up for me to step into.

Stepping out of the tub, I slide my arms into the soft terrycloth and tie a quick knot into the belt before turning to her. "I'm grateful to you and Flavius for your willingness to work with me on that. I really would have hated missing it," I tell her as starts blotting my hair with a towel.

"Yes, well you truly did need a deep conditioning treatment so it worked out splendidly to let it set while you took your lunch meeting."

We are quiet for a second as she works the towel in my hair. "Your hair has grown so long," she sighs sweetly.

I glance at our reflection in the mirror as she works her way down the length of my locks. My hair is the longest it's ever been, extending well past the middle of my back. "Haircuts haven't been my first priority the last couple of years," I say quietly.

Octavia catches my eyes in the mirror, they are kind and gentle. "Yes, I can imagine," she returns compassionately. "Well, I'm here now to rectify the situation. What do you think we should with it, hu?" She asks, raking her fingers through the strains. I shrug, having no real opinion on the subject.

Octavia tilts her head to the side in contemplation, before moving for a brush on the counter. "Well, Peeta suggested we don't cut it too short," she says with a mischievous smile.

My eyes widen and my cheeks flush. I'm shocked that Peeta has considered my hair at all, let alone went to the extent of speaking to the team about it. "I'm sure he was just...um..." I stammer.

She laughs and pats my shoulder. "He didn't track us down or anything, it was a passing conversation when we were cutting his hair this afternoon," she confesses.

 _Well that makes more sense_ , I think, but somewhere deep down I feel disappointment and not relief working its way around my guts. I quickly look way from Octavia, attempting to hide the thoughts as they pass over my face. "Oh, I see," I manage to say neutrally.

Placing hands on my shoulders, Octavia directs me out the door of the bathroom and into the chair in front of the vanity in my room. Once seated, she brings her hands around to gently brush my hair from where it hangs over my shoulders to lay it against my back. Then, leaning over my shoulder, she once again locks eyes with me in the mirror. "He said he thought it looks nice longer," she says in a soft voice only meant for me.

Surprised, I can't help but to pull back and look directly at her face. She looks pleased with herself at her confession and perhaps...at my reaction? "Octavia...you know that Peeta and I aren't...that the whole thing was..." I stammer, my mind spinning for the right words.

She pats my arm. "Oh yes dear, we were filled in on the...a..." she gropes for the right word for a second before continuing, "Specifics of your connection when we were in Thirteen," she explains but continues to smile down at me with a look I can't quite name. "I just thought you'd like to know his thoughts," she finishes with a wink.

I'm taken completely off guard by her comment, so I just sit mutely and watch as she sets out her scissors and combs on the vanity. I search desperately for the words I need to convince her that all that was told to her in Thirteen is true. The Peeta Mellark who professed his love for me at the 74th games is gone most days, stolen away by a Capitol doctor with a syringe full of tracker jacker venom and that I, Katniss Everdeen, only ever allowed myself to playact at being the object of Peeta's affections. But even if I can't convince her of these truths, then I need to be sure she will keep her thoughts about us to herself for the sake of the star-crossed lover's ban. "Octavia, you and Flavius….uh…any ideas you may have about that, could you please keep them out of the gossip mill," I finally manage to get out.

A bright smile spreads across her youthful face. "I only meant my comments to be girl talk," she says with a wink, "As for gossip, Effie provided us with a disclosure to sign," she tells me as she runs a comb through my hair. "Not that it was necessary really. Cinna trained us well. _'Nothing seen or heard when dealing with a client leaves the room'_ ," she quotes proudly.

I sigh in relief and offer her a sad smile at the mention of my dearly departed friend and stylist. "Cinna, he was better to me than I deserved," I say, tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

Handing me a tissue from the vanity, she lays a comforting hand on one of my shoulders. "Katniss he loved your dearly and wanted so much to be able to protect you," she says, her eyes unfocused as she recalls the past.

I place a hand atop hers and give it a squeeze, which seems pulling her back to the present. Straightening her back, she places a brilliant smile back on her face. "Let's make him proud, shall we?" she asks cheerfully, grabbing the scissors. "How about we just trim this pretty mane of yours and give you some soft layers?" she asks.

I can hardly believe this is the same woman who used to dye herself green and could talk at nauseam about parties and her pet mice. I look up into her kind eyes, put on my most confident smile, and pay her the deepest respect I can think of by saying, "Do whatever you think is best. I trust your judgment."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two hours of cutting, plucking, shaping, exfoliating, and mud masks and I am stripped clean of my district self. While this treatment was nothing compared to the intense preparations I endured for the games and victory tour, I figure I'm still probably down a half a pound after all the hair that has been removed from me today. I look at myself in the mirror and can't help but admire the work Octavia and Flavius have done. This look is understated by the standards of the Capitol, for which I'm grateful. Octavia has styled my hair into loose glossy curls that cascade down my back. Over my right ear, she has swept up a bit of hair and pinned it back with gold comb topped delicate pink enameled flowers. The make-up that Flavious has applied is subtle but highlights my gray eyes. Reaching up I run my fingers gingerly across my face and marvel at how soft my skin feels. "You know, while I still could do without all the plucking, but I really do like how my skin feels," I admit to Flavius who is studiously packing his tools of trade into a black leather satchel.

"I've left you the face wash and lotion on the bathroom counter. While you're here, be a dear and use them in the morning and before bed. I'll come and give you a mask once a week."

"Twice a day?" I scoff.

Flavius tosses a saucy look at me over his shoulder. "My sweet girl, good skin care is all about daily maintenance. Honestly, you really should have a routine because as my dearly departed grandmother use to say, "'Time keeps marching on and eventually it does so across your face'," he lectures me in a high falsetto that I assume it meant to emulate his grandmother, but point is lost on me and I can't help but laugh.

Flavius gives me a look of mock derision and walks to the door. Pulling it open, he calls down the hall to Tova who has been waiting patiently for him to finish up my make-up to bring in my dress.

The woman who breezes into the room is already dressed for the evening. Clad in a simple floor-length chiffon dress that is the same purple shade as her pinned up hair, she is so effortlessly beautiful that next to her, even with the amazing work my prep team has done, I feel inadequate.

Looping the hanger of the garment bag in her arms on the hook on the back of my bathroom door, she turns and takes me in. "You look wonderful," she professes.

I nervously pull on the end of one of my curls. "All Flavius and Octavia's doing," I say gesturing to Flavius who smiles kindly at me before escaping into the hall and pulling the door closed.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short Katniss," she advises as she slips the zipper down the garment bag. "Oh, by the way, your cousin is here. He's been assigned to escort our group to the event," she says brightly.

"He's not my cousin," I correct automatically.

She glances over at me, one of her perfect purple eyebrows arched slightly.

"That just something the Capitol made up. Couldn't have one-half of the star-crossed lovers having a handsome male friend," I explain.

She seems to take a moment to digest the info, then turns back to the bag. "Well he _is_ handsome," she says with a smile in her voice. With one final snap, the garment bag gives way to reveal the dress within. With a flourish, she gives the skirt a shake and takes a step back to gauge my reaction.

My eyes lock on the pale pink dress and my breath catches in my throat. It is the dress Cinna made for the victory tour banquet in District 11, but it has been modified. When Effie requested us to send our clothing and measurements to her, she had asked if there were any specific things they needed to consider, so I had requested that I be given a way to cover my arms and back. Although my skin is healed, it will probably forever show were the fire licked at me. I had assumed that what I would be presented with was clothing adjusted to fit my current body and maybe a shawl or jacket for my arms, not a remake of my only surviving link to my friend Cinna.

I take a tentative step closer to dress to survey the changes. As I look closer I can see that the basic structure of the dress is the same, only the top of the dress has been overlaid with a delicate lace bodice, that is the same exact color as the dress, that ends at the natural waistline with a sash of silver ribbon about three inches wide. Reaching a hand out, I run my fingers over the soft lace of notice a slight shimmer from the tiny silver threads woven into the pattern of the lace, they are a match, of course, for the sash. With a high boat neck and three quarter sleeves, this addition will cover most all of my damage skin.

"You...don't like it?" Tova asks worriedly.

I shake my head and pull my gaze from the dress to the dressmaker. "Oh no, that isn't it at all. The dress is beautiful and I really do like the lace...I just wasn't expecting the dress to be changed this much," I try to explain.

"I didn't want to burden you with a shawl because the extra fabric can be a bit awkward at events such as these where there will be eating, hand shaking, and dancing. I figured this way you can keep your hands free to enjoy the evening," she quickly explains.

"Practical and beautiful," I mummer, looking back at the dress. "I think the original maker would approve of that tactic," I admit.

"Cinna," Tova breaths out, her voice full of reverence. "I spent a lot of time looking at his drawings and cloths before making adjustments. I'm sure my work would pale in comparison to the genius he could have created," she says softly.

"It's lovely," I affirm, taking the hanger off the hook.

"Do you need help getting dressed?"

The very thought of this pretty girl helping me into the dress and seeing all my rippled sink makes my stomach hurt. "No, I think I can handle it," I dismiss.

"Very well. You'll find the shoes in a box in the bottom of the garment bag, and if you change your mind, I'll just be in the living room."

Grabbing the shoes, I thank her again for the dress and disappear into the bathroom. Tossing my bathrobe over the side of the tub and the shoe box on the bathroom counter, I quickly slip into the dress on and pull the zipper under my arm up. Padding over to the counter, I slide the lid of the shoe box off. Tucked between layers of light blue tissue paper I find a pair of sparkly heels. As I strap them to my feet, I make a mental note to thank Tova for the relatively short heel height. It's been a long time since I've had to prance around in these torture devices, the shorter heels should make it a bit easier for me to navigate around in them. Once the last shoe is secured, stand up and run my hands over the soft satin of my dress and turn towards the full-length mirror in the corner.

Starting at the top of my head, I work my way down, checking to ensure that I haven't disturbed the hair or make up my prep team spent so much time perfecting. Everything seems in place, but still, I stand staring at my reflection. I suddenly feel rooted to the floor as the realization of what comes next washes over me. My skin goes clammy and my hands begin to shake. Once I leave this room we will be on our way to a Capitol party. Logically, I know that this party will be different than those I attended as a Victor but I can't seem to convince my racing heart of it. Today has been a flurry of activity. From a fight with Gale this morning, to the surprise appearance of my prep team, to lunch with alliance fighters, Honey and Ardor whom Peeta befriend on his adventure last night, then to an afternoon of party prep, I haven't had time to really think about the actual event this evening.

Closing my eyes, I focus on a breathing technique Dr. Aurelius taught me during one of our more productive sessions. _Deep breath in and let it out slow. Deep breath in and let it out slow_. I continue on in this fashion for another few breaths when Peeta's face surfaces in my thoughts. _How is he managing this stress? Has it triggered an episode?_ I worried, I feel a sudden urge to see him, to check on him, and in all honesty, I just need to be in his reassuring presence. Spinning on my heels, I march out the room, down the hall and towards the living filled with lively chatter.

I stop in the entryway to the living room and sweep my eyes over my group of well-dressed friends. No Peeta. I'm about to turn and head back down the hall towards his room but Gale, decked out in his dress uniform, spots me and saunters over.

"You know I've never seen you dressed up like this before," he says in way of greeting.

My brow wrinkles, "I was paraded around on TV for over a year in stuff like this," I counter, my eyes glance down the hall towards Peeta's door.

"Not the same thing as seeing it in person," he says. Dipping his head, he seeks my eyes out. "You clean up nice Catnip," he smiles.

I bite my lip self-consciously. "Thanks," I mutter.

"Stop that right now, you'll ruin that lip I spent so much time on," Flavius calls from across the room. I immediately relinquish my tug and smile sheepishly at him.

"Katniss, you look lovely," Effie bubbles, floating over to me.

Dressed in a stunning midnight blue dress, her hair in soft waves, she is unrecognizable compared to the escort I knew. "You look lovely as well," I offer. This makes her smile broadly.

"You don't need to make her head any bigger than it already is you know," Haymitch snorts as he approaches our group. To my surprise, in spite of his customary tumbler of liquor, he seems mostly sober. Running his eyes over me, he smirks. "Well, well, looks like your prep team still has the ability to wash the district off ya," he jokes. I smirk at the comment, having thought the very thing myself only a couple of hours ago.

Effie scoffs and swats him gently in the stomach, "Haymitch!" she scolds.

"What? It's true," he tosses back. Effie glares at him.

I feel Gale bristle next to me. There is no way he can understand Haymitch and I's relationship, hell most days I don't understand it. What I do know is that this is about to turn into a yelling match. I clear my throat, "Effie, when does the event start?" I ask, knowing this will turn the conversation.

Having noticed Gale's change in posture, Effie looks relieved at the change of subject. "Excellent, question," she says, glance down at a silver watch on her wrist. "It starts sooner than I'd like," she breaths out. Looking up at Gale she turns on her best sponsor smile, "Captain, perhaps we need to contact the driver, and get organized to leave," she suggests.

Gale, who's eyes are still glued to Haymitch, snap over to Effie. "Yes, of course, Ms. Trinket," he responses formally.

Effie lowers her head in a gracious nod, then looks at me. "Peeta is still MIA, please go down and hurry him alone," she requests.

 _Finally._ "Sure, thing Effie," I say. Without further encouragement, I head down the hall and knock on the door. When I hear a muffled "Come in," I twist the knob and step into the room. Standing at the foot of the bed, his back to me, he appears to be struggling with the cuff of his crisp white shirt. "Effie says it's time to go," I announce.

"I thought you were Flav..." he beings but stops mid-sentence when he turns and spots me. His eyes flutter over me and back to up to my face. "Wow! You look beautiful," he says in a thick voice.

I feel my cheeks turn crimson under his gaze, but a small smile forces its way onto my lips in spite of myself. "You look quite dapper as well," I return. His lips lift into a crooked smile. "Would look better if I could get this damn cuff-link in," he says, hold it out to me.

I roll my eyes in mock exasperation but take the jewelry from his fingers. He dutifully holds his arm up to me. Stepping in closer, I take his cuff in hand and begin working the stud into the hole under my thumb. Standing this close to him, I can make out the smell of his cologne mixed with the faint scent of cinnamon that always seems to cling to him after he's made cinnamon rolls. It's familiar, comforting...distracting. I drop the cufflink. I look down but it's disappeared. "Shit," I mutter.

"Katniss Everdeen, language," Peeta lectures, in what was clearly meant to be an impression of Effie. I roll my eyes at him, then turn my attention back to the floor. I'm in motion to squat down so I can look more efficiently for the missing jewelry when Peeta clucks his tongue at me. "Oh no you don't," he chides "Our entire team will have my head if you wreck that dress." Before I can object, he's squatting down in front of me, running his hands over the carpet. After a few seconds of searching, I hear a frustrated grunt. "It didn't just disappear," he mutters, his hand searching under the edge of the bed.

In an attempt to not be completely useless, I start searching the floor opposite of where he's looking but startle when I feel callused fingers slip over the top of my foot. My gaze snaps down at the culprit and find him looking pleased with himself. "Nice shoes," he winks. I feel a faint redness crosses my cheeks. "And look what I found," he adds, pulling the cuff link from under the hem of my gown. I take it from him and turn my full attention to the object hoping the distraction will cover my blush. Using the bed to help hoisted himself up from the floor, he steps back into my personal space and holds out the offending sleeve. "We better hurry or Effie might just explode," he warns, his voice low and warm sounding.

"That would be messy," I mummer under my breath as I work the pin of the cuff-link through the hole.

Peeta chuckles then sighs thoughtfully. "Can you believe we're here again Katniss?" he wonders aloud.

I glance up at him and for the first time notice the hair cut our prep team gave him. "It didn't really hit me until I saw myself in the mirror in this get-up," I admit as I present the cuff complete with cuff-link secured in place.

He nods his gratitude but scrutinizes my face. "You don't look too freaked out," he concludes.

I shrug uncommittedly. "I'm...nervous, I guess. Worried about you. Any episodes?" I inquire.

His cuff now securely closed, he reaches for his coat. "I felt a little off earlier, but between the chatter of the Octavia and Flavius and a nice long shower, it seems to have faded. I now only have your typical, run-of-the-mill, social anxiety thing goin' on," he jokes, sliding the coat on.

"You're sure?" I ask, concerned in spite of his attempt to brush the subject off.

He stares at me for a moment, then nods sincerely. "I'm sure. Plus I'll have you there, so it will be just like old times," he grins.

"I'm the center of your high jacking. That isn't reassuring," I point out.

He shrugs dismissively and tugs at the knot of his silver-gray tie. "It's more reassuring than you realize," he counters off-handedly.

I want to argue with him but it's not really the time for that kind of discussion. Swatting his hand away from his tie and set myself to straighten it. "I am looking forward to the food," I say, hoping to redirect the conversation.

He chuckles softly, "Just promise me that you won't make me eat all of your leftovers this time," he teases.

At our last Capitol event, our last stop on the victory tour and the day I realized I couldn't appease Snow, I had handed plate after plate of food that I wanted to try but was fearful of wasting, to him. He had dutifully finished every bite I left behind. Until now I never gave much thought to the fact the perhaps he was full.

I tug harder on the knot of his tie and try my best to look offended by the comment, but it's hard when it's all I can do to keep a silly grin from breaking through.

Peeta is feigning choking when there is a knock at the door. I glance over my shoulder and find Tova standing there, an uncomfortable expression on her face. In spite of the innocent nature of our current situation, I can't help but feel as though I've been caught doing something inappropriate. I immediately drop my hands from Peeta's necktie and take a step back.

Tova shifts awkwardly, "Are you two ready to go?" she inquires.

Peeta doesn't remove his gaze from me when he responds, "We are just finishing up."

"The car is waiting," she offers, stepping back and gesturing down the hall.

Peeta nods and buttons his jacket. "You ready to do this?" he asks me.

My first instinct it to nibble on my lip, but I remember my make-up and choose to wring my hands instead. I glance over at the door and Tova, who is waiting expectantly, then back at him, "Does it matter if I say no," I ask.

"Yeah, it does. You can say no to this, to...any of it, at any time," he says leveling his gaze at me.

I considering the option for only a second, because I already know I will go. I've chosen to come here, bring everyone I care about with me. And the truth of the matter is that this is going to be easy compared to what will be expected of me in the upcoming weeks. So I straighten my back and lay a finger along the side of my mouth in faux contemplation, "I was looking forward to the food..." draw out.

He laughs and gestures towards the door, "I'm smart enough to know not to get between you and food, so let's go."


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello Lovelies- So after months and months away, and seemingly empty promises of a new chapter, (drumroll please) here it is! Sorry for the delay. Bouts of illness, hospitalization and just life in general, have gotten in the way of my free time to write.**

 **Please note, I've only given this one full read through for errors, so I'm sure you will find some. Please message me anything you see so I can make corrections, and don't be surprised if I update it sometime in the coming weeks.**

 **For those of you who are curious, here is a link to the song included in this story as well as inspiration for the home in this story.**

 **historic-sites/james-j-hill-house**

 **watch?v=vPRuztg6Y0U**

 **As always, your kind words and encouragement keep this ship a sailin', so if you have a second leave a comment or follow the story :) You guys are the best!**

Staring out the window's of our hired car, I take in the passing sensory with interest. Unlike the congested streets of the city, this area, which we entered about ten minutes ago, contains larger homes on bigger pieces of land. Besides the change in size, I'm surprised by the lack of, "Capitolness" of these home. These houses seem void of all the fads and garish colors of the downtown buildings. They instead have large arching windows, facades made from ornately carved stone and steep slate roofs. They're, dare I say, beautiful.

"Effie, why is this part of town so different than the rest of the Capitol?" I ask, turning my attention back to the chatter of the car. Effie, who is seated primly next to me, smiles broadly, "This area is very, very old and almost exclusively owned by the most prominent families. I've heard rumors that some of these homes are from before the dark days," she tells me conspiratorially.

I glance back out at the passing homes. "Is our event in one of these homes?" I ask, hopeful that we might get a chance to see the inside of one of the massive houses.

"Actually, yes, the Byers family has offered to host the evening," Tova interjects softly. At the sound of her soft voice, I suddenly realize this is the first thing she said since we got in the car 40 minutes ago. For a normally bubbly and outgoing person, it's strange that's she been so quiet. I turn a bit in my seat and look kitty-corner down long seat opposite me to where she sits next to the opposite door. When our eyes meet I offer a friendly smile. She sees my attempt and returns the gesture rather shyly. I find it odd, but my thoughts are soon interrupted.

"So these people offered to host a big party out of the goodness of their hearts or is it still in fashion to have connections to victors?" Katniss asks, her hostility on the subject clear in her clipped voice. My attention snaps to where she sits directly across from me and find her with a grim expression her face and her arms crossed over her chest defensively.

"Calm down sweetheart, the Byers' are good people," Haymitch cautions, patting her knee. "Their family was part of the rebellion for over a decade."

Katniss considers him for a moment before I see her body relax. I understand her concerns, if not the way she expresses them. The war is over and a new government in place, but the games were different in the Capitol. They were honest to goodness entertainment for most, and a way of life for a few. The and idea of waltzing into the home of an uber games fans would be uncomfortable for any tribute. I subtly nudge her foot with mine and offer her a comforting grin. She appears to take a calming breath and returns a small smile as the car pulls to a stop.

Leaning forward, I strain my neck to look out the far window of the car but all I can see is a stretch of massive, rugged and randomly sized blocks of stone. Once the second car, carrying the rest of our delegation, pulls up behind us. Our driver exits and ceremoniously pulls open the door next to Tova, which I assume is closest to the entrance. The car slowly empties as Tova, Effie and Haymitch climbs out, leaving Katniss and myself. I glance over at her and spot her nervously bouncing knee. "Outrageously opulent food awaits," I smile, nodding towards the open door. Glancing out the car door, she begins worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Apparently, my light-hearted quip has missed its mark. I about to place a hand on the bouncing knee when Gale's face appears in the open door.

"Catnip, your press awaits," he says, tossing her a casual smile.

Katniss visibly swallow back her nervousness and my eyes narrow at him. "That kind of information isn't going to hurry this process along Captain," I inform him evenly. Gale glances over at me, then at Katniss, seemingly trying to decide if I'm right. He must find the evidence he's looking for because he apologizes. "Oh, uh, sorry Katniss, I didn't know the reporters would upset you," he offers lamely.

My eye's roll, completely without my volition. "It's not the reports, it's the crowds. This is de'ja vu, tribute style," I mutter, the sound of exasperation clear in my voice.

Katniss catches my eyes and shoots me a glare. "I'm not upset," she says evenly, "I'm just not...excited by the prospect of navigating the crowd." This, of course, is a lie, but Gale seem's to be buying it, because the words bring a relieved grin to his face. "Well Ms. Everdeen it quite lucky I'm here to escort you because it just so happens that I have a very keen sense of direction," he says offering her his hand.

As Katniss's lips quirk up at the statement but I find myself clenching my lips tightly together to keep the unpleasant rebuttals from escaping my mouth. My thoughts are fully focused on maintaining self-control when I hear Katniss calling my name.

"Are you...okay?" she asks her eye's darting over my face and down to my hands. She's looking for signs of a flashback. I force a smile to my lips, "If you're ever wondering about my mental state, you should alway choose to sprint for an exit," I tell her. "After all, the last thing I'd want is for you to be trapped in here with _him_ ," I say, alluding to the other me, the hijacked me. She tilts her head, clearly exasperated with my non-answer. I give in. "I'm fine," I conceded. "Now, take Gale's offer and go inside," I say gesturing towards Gale with my head.

She looks at me for a long moment before understanding lights behind her eyes. She should go in with Gale to avoid a "star-crossed lovers" sighting. She offers me a slight nod. "I'll meet you at the buffet table," she says taking Gales proffered hand. I recall our banter on the subject earlier this evening and give her a wink of collusion, "I'll avoid the passed hor 'd oeuvres," I grin. She chuckles but all too soon disappears out the door and into the crowd beyond.

I take a long moment to collect myself and to allow Katniss and Gale time to clear the car. Staring mindlessly through the back windshield, I watch as they make their way through the corridor of reporters. About halfway to the front door, I notice Katniss's fingers begin to clench at Gale's arm. My internal alarm goes off. Having done two years of public appearances with her I know this to be a telltale sign of her rising panic. I grip the edge of my seat and force myself to stay in the car. What seems like an eternity passes before I see Gale take note of her tension. He offers her a warm smile and begins rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades. This must be reassuring to her because she noticeably relaxes, that is until Gale makes the mistake of taking things too far. The hand that had been making circle has slid from its spot between her shoulder blades to come to rest a bit too far south of her lower back to be friendly. She visibly stiffens but he either doesn't notice or is choosing to ignore her, because he cares on towards the door his hand firmly planted on the apex of her rear end. A grunt of indignation escapes my lips and before I can reign it in and almost immediately Haymitch's chuckle fills the car.

My attention snaps from the pair to my ex- mentor's face hovering in the open door. "Son, it's gonna be a long night, you best get that out of your system right now," he smirks. I glare at him and blow out an irritated breath. "I've got this," I mutter as I slide across the seat towards him. "Oh, you do, do ya?" He laughs, "Because you look pissed off and jealous, so you might what to re-evaluate," he says, his voice taking on an uncharacteristic timber of sincerity. I want to tell him to butt the hell out of my business, but as usual, Haymitch is right.

I am unhappy with the reappearance of "the Capitan" in Katniss' life and I'm letting my feelings cloud my judgment. This is not to say that I don't have valid reasons for disliking him, but if I'm being honest with myself there is a hint of an old and deeply seeded dislike of him that comes from the completion we used to share for Katniss's affections. A word suddenly flashes amidst my ponderings, _Jealous_. I immediately dismiss the thought. I currently have the exact relationship with Katniss I want. She is my closest confidant and I am hers. I no longer doubt her friendship or her loyalty and I find an immense sense of comfort in that fact. _Jealous_. The word echoes again. I feel my brow furrow. "So are you gonna wipe the sour look off your face and come in or what?" Haymitch asks, thankfully interpreting the spinning of my mind. "Yeah. sure," I mutter swinging my feet out of the vehicle and onto the pavement. Haymitch takes a step back to make room for me on the sidewalk.

I've just extracted myself when Effie approaches Haymitch, Tova and I, in a whirlwind. "We are already behind schedule, don't doddle," she chirps, ushering us along the sidewalk with a flutter of her hands. Haymitch grunts at her insistence and in one smooth motion plucks one of her flailing appendages from midair and tucks it securely in the crease of his elbow. "Relax woman. They're the guests of honor, it's not like they are going to start without them," he croaks, his voice surprising void of its usual harshness. This piques my interest and I glance at them out of the corner of my eye. Haymitch, on a good day, is gruff, difficult and surly and he has rarely, at least in my recollection, ever been tolerant of Effie Trinket's eccentricities. For the second time today his reaction to her has not only been reserved but boarding on patient. I make a mental note to do some recognizance and harass him about later.

We make our way through the crowd of reporters, seemingly stopping every few steps to smile and wave. The flash of the cameras and call of our names is overwhelming and I feel as if the front entrance is miles away instead of mere few feet. I want to bear hug Effie when she finally announces we are officially late and detangles herself from Haymitch to shoo us inside.

A set of wide stone stairs grace the front of the mansion and the top an enormous carved door flanked by doormen. As we ascend one of the uniformed men silently pull the door open so we can slip seamlessly into the opulent foyer beyond. Inside we are greeted by several maids who are collecting coats and wraps. Effie and Tova are checking their shawls when the area around us suddenly goes silent; all the noise of the reports and photographers trapped beyond the thick wood door. Glancing over my shoulder at the door, and raise an eyebrow at Haymitch, "I could use a sound proof door like that, drown out the sound of your damn geese," I tease. Haymitch gives me an unamused grin then turns back to reclaim Effie before directing us further into the house.

We step into a hallway and an audible gasp escapes my mouth. The hallway, if that is what you'd call this space, could fit my entire house in victors village. Stunned, I stand mouth a gape, taking in the grandeur and magnitude of the space. Cross an expanse of hardwood floors and ornate rugs two mirror image stairwells, swoop down to meet a wide joined flight that leads the floor we are standing. Following one of the staircases up and round, I find it slings around to create a balcony behind us, where guests seem to be mingling. The house extends to both my left and right in a seemingly endless arrangement of rooms.

"Subtle, isn't it?" Haymitch grunts in my ear.

I blink. "This is a home...for one family?" I stammer. "It's the size of a justice building...no bigger!"

Having overheard us, Tova moves in closer to me, so not to be heard by other guests. "It used to be, yes, for many generations. Now, the family only keeps a small apartment on the grounds and the rest is open to the public for events like this," she offers.

"You'd need to do that just to heat this place," I mutter.

"Well, yes I suppose," she agrees, taking the scope of the room. "It is beautiful though," she sighs.

I nod in agreement. In spite of its grandiose stature, it really is tastefully decorated, and the craftsmanship is breathtaking. I suddenly wonder what Katniss will make of all this. My eyes do a quick scan of the crowds for her, but I freeze when I hear my name being bellowed from above me. A small smile spills onto my lips. I glance up at the balcony to find Johanna Mason's petite frame draped seductively along the balcony railing, a rye smile on her lips. I chuckle and hold a finger up to her, indicating she should wait right there. I turn to my entourage, "I'm going to say hello, I'll meet you inside," I tell them. Effie begins to protest, but Haymitch catches her by her elbow and leads her way with a "Damn woman, let them say hello. This is the 'meet and greet' portion of the evening right?" She grumbles something I can't hear and gives me a concerned look as they retreat into the crowd. Effie has changed a lot over the years, but I'm guessing she still doesn't approve of Johanna's manners, which sadly is why exactly Johanna behaves the way she does. I chuckle at the paradox and turn for the stairs.

I was still in the hospital for treatment after the war when she came to say goodbye and informed me of her plans to visit all the districts and live as a nomad. Over the years I've received a few letters and we talked via phone occasionally, but it's been a good six months since I last heard from her. Rounding the staircase, I come to a stop a few feet from her. "So, in all of your travels in the last year, you didn't manage picked even the tiniest bit of social etiquette eh?" I quip.

She smirks, tilting her head to one side, "Well as the adage goes, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks"

I let out a long breath and close the gap to embrace her. I feel her hands slid under my coat to wrap firmly around my back, anchoring us to each other in the moment. Placing my chin on top of her head, I close my eyes and enjoy the moment.

After a long moment, we both settle back a bit so we can look at each other. The last year has done good things for Johanna. She has regained all the weight she lost at Snow's hand. Her hair has all grown back and is the longest I've ever seen it, which isn't saying much, but the waves of her dark brown bob seem to suit her, and softens her a face a bit. "You look great Johanna," I tell her sincerely.

"You look tall," she grins.

"Good thing tall is in."

She shakes her head and gives me another tight hug before letting go of me.

"Your last letter said you were in four, did Annie and Finn come with you?" I ask, looking around for fair redhead.

"Yah, we traveled in together, but Annie started freaking out when we started to get ready to leave. Keep muttering something about the nanny's eyebrows and that she couldn't be trusted with Finny," she says with a roll of her eyes.

"I thought she was doing better," I say feeling my concern rise.

"She is," Johanna says calmly, "It's just being here. She's just stressed and when she's stressed she comes apart a bit. She'll be okay in a day or so," she says waving her hand in a dismissive gesture.

I look closely at her, trying to determine if she's honestly unconcerned or just putting on a front. "If she's not...you don't have to hide it," I offer.

She locks steady eyes with mine, "She's fine," she says evenly, then turns her gaze over the railing and into the crowd mingling below. "I didn't see brainless down there, did she bail?" she asks, but before I could respond she continues with, "Naw, she's here somewhere, bailing after making a long list of demands would be poor form wouldn't?" she tosses out casually.

I raise an eyebrow at her, "What…how…?" I stammer.

"Like that kind of trick would stay a secret, don't be so naive Mellark," she scoffs but pats my shoulder sympathetically.

"Who knows exactly, cuz if it's public then..."

"Chill out, I heard about it from a little birdie we both know, I don't think it's public," she dismisses.

I narrow my eyes and feel my anger flare. "Gale?" I grunt.

Johanna shrugs off my inquiry and changes the subject. "So where is the Mockingjay?" she asks again, this time more seriously.

I'm still upset a the thought of our private business is being shared as gossip, but I'll have to deal with it later, this is hardly the time and the place. I take a calming breath and focus on the question at hand. "Knowing Katniss as I do, I suspect she's eyeing the buffet table about now," I respond, looking out at the crowd below us.

Resting her forearms on the banister, Johanna joins me in gazing the milling guests. "I saw your crew when you arrived. Haymitch looks about the same, but you can't really change to look of hammered shit," she cracks.

I give her a disapproving glance that she pretends not to see. "I almost didn't recognize your Escort minus the clown makeup and hair though."

"War changes everyone, even Effie Trinket," I say quietly.

She doesn't respond, but I see her face shadow over in dark thought. Effie, like us, was imprisoned during the war so we don't have to reach far to imagine what her time was like while in the care of Snow. After a second she shakes her head, and her face returns to its usual level of ambivalence before she continues with, "You know who I didn't recognize was the plum haired beauty chatting you up," she says, turning towards me.

I quirk an eyebrow at her, "You meet Tova, right? Before you left the Capitol…didn't you?" I ask.

She considers the question for a second before drawing out, "The… red-headed nurse?"

I nod, "Volunteer actually, but yes you've got the right person."

"And she's now she's what… a groupie?" she chuckles.

I roll my eyes good-naturedly at her, "She's Effie's assistant and a stylist for our team. And she's a friend as well," I smile thinking of her.

Johanna visibly leans back on her heels at the explanation, a suspicious gleam in her eyes. "Well look at Peeta Mellark, playing the field," she cackles too loudly.

My eyes fly open and my first instinct is to clasp a hand over her mouth, but that would only draw more attention, so I very calmly and quietly hiss "shhh," at her.

"What? I think all the single ladies here would be thrilled to hear that you're open for some action!"

"It's not like that with Tova and I. Really we're just friends, end of story," I shoot back.

She eyes me for a moment, "Please tell me you're not still hung up on brainless," she says in disbelief.

I'm taken aback by the comment. After my hijacking, anyone who knew us was aware that the relationship I had with Katniss had been nearly destroyed by the process. My feelings, while I could recall them, didn't resonate with me. I was conditioned to hate and fear her, there was little room for anything else. I've spent the last year weeding through that and working hard on finding the real me and the real Katniss. Through it all, we have managed to develop a deep, albeit unique, friendship, but there is nothing more than that is between us. _s Or is there?_ The thought slips in so smoothly and quickly I find myself uncharacteristically tongue-tied. I'm still trying to sort out what just happened when Johanna throws her hands in the air in disgust. "Really! Still?" she rallies, clearly taking my lack of response for affirmation of her assumptions.

"Johanna, keep your voice down," I demand, irritated by her outburst. While I'm well aware that Johanna is not one to keep her thoughts to herself, I do take issue with her voicing them in the middle of cocktail hour. "Can we talk about my lack of a love life at another time," I grumble under my breath.

She levels her sharp hazel eyes at me for a long moment, then huffs and rolls her eyes at me. "You...you...Ugh! I need a drink!" she exclaims, sounding exasperated.

Tucking her hand in the crook of my arm, I lead her towards the stairs. "I think saw a bar down the _west_ _wing_ ," I suggest by way of a peace offering.

"They better have Gin," she mutters as we weave our way through the crowd. It isn't long, however, before we are waylaid by bevies of well-wishers and others just wanting to say "hello". Still five hundred feet from our goal, I can feel irritation rolling off Johanna in waves, which is never a good thing in the case of this ex-victor. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and can actually see her turning red. Pulling her arm in tighter to my body, I pray that she keeps her mouth shut and doesn't start cursing out the woman with yellow triangle shaped hair that is currently telling us, in detail, about her first trip outside the Capitol.

It's Effie who saves us. Appearing suddenly at my side. With her years of experience dealing with sponsors, she makes quick work of gently, but firmly extracting us from the yellow woman's grasp. Linking her arm in my free one, she guides us through the crowd, waving and call out to people she knows but stopping for no one.

I glance over at Johanna and find her lips quirked in a pleased smile. "Twelve always did have the best escort," she mutters then continues adding, "Which was probably the cosmos's way of making up for Haymitch."

Effie laughs, not a subtle chuckle, but a true laugh. I look down at her to find her with a hand over her mouth, trying to keep the sound from traveling. I shake my head at the transformation of my old escort. Two years ago she would be shooting Johanna with a death glare about her comment regarding Haymitch. It was after all Effie's job to try and keep Haymitch's already tarnished reputation from sinking any further in the eyes of the public. She would have never tolerated such a jab in a public venue. _Propping up Haymitch would have been a monumental task, to say the least, perhaps it was that tenacity that kept her alive after her capture,_ I think.

With Effie's deft guidance, we quickly find ourselves in an opulent dining room. The room is enormous, tray ceilings, golden wallpaper, dark mahogany wood floors and two large and elaborately carved fireplaces lit with dozens of white candles. Around the room are tables of various sizes are draped in floor length navy sink tablecloths and topped matching candles and neat arrangements of roses and spring flowers. The lighting is low and mixes with the with the golden sparkle of candlelight. The overall effect is calming and intimate. When I feel my shoulders loosen for the first time since arriving, I mentally give props to the party designer. A party that I had all expectations of being garish and theatrical, like others I've been to during the games, is instead welcoming and elegant. The tone set, I start to relax.

Effie leads us over to a table in the corner where we find Haymitch, Tova and Thom in casual conversation. Standing along a nearby wall I spot Gale and a soldier introduced to earlier this evening as Timmons. Both are standing at attention, eyes scanning the crowd. I'm taken aback for a moment having forgotten in the rush of the evening that Gale present here is ,for the most part, in a working capacity.

Johanna rounds the table and plucks an unceremonious hand down on Haymitch's shoulder. "I need Gin and blondie here couldn't deliver," she says tossing her head in my direction. Haymitch chuckles and sets down his still half full glass of amber liquor on the table before standing. "Let me take you over and introduce you to Atlas the bartender then," he says. Without further ado, Haymitch puts a guiding hand on Johanna's back and as the pair disappears out the door at the far end of the dining room. My thoughts float to Katniss. My eyes scan the room, but I don't see her anywhere. "Effie, where's Katniss?" I ask.

"Katniss and Mrs. Kensington are doing a little exploring," Tova informs me.

Placing my hands on the back of one of the plush chairs, I let my fingers play along the cream colored velvet while I consider going off to locate her. If I were at home, in the privacy of twelve, this wouldn't even be a question, but that isn't the case here. Once again the Capitol focuses us to play a role, having us hide who we really are. It's ironic to me how the tables have turned. Two years ago we were pretending to be madly in love and now we are pretending to be distant friends, apparently, fate has decided that striking a happy medium is impossible.

Chewing on my lip, I ponder my options before deciding that a group of us together should dissuade idle gossip. Glancing between Tova and Thom I ask, "I think I'll do a little exploring of my own, would you two care to join me?"

"I would love nothing more than to join you in locating my new bride, but I have some networking to do. Ms. Trinket has graciously agreed to introduce me to a few of the other District leaders," Thom explains. "But, would you do me a favor and keep an eye out for Becca, this whole event is a bit overwhelming," he says, his eyes skirting around the grand room.

"Of course. I would never dream of leaving a newbie alone to likes of a Capitol event," I promise.

"Thanks, man," Thom says getting to his feet.

I turn to Tova, "Are you going to ditch me for delegates too?" I tease.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she smiles slipping a hand into the crook of my arm.

Forever punctual, Effie glances down at a delicate watch on her wrist, then up at me. "We have about thirty minutes until they ring the bell for dinner. Let's regroup here when it sounds," she suggests.

With promises to return promptly, I turn Tova towards the exit and head out into the den of party goers. As we start making our way through the crowd I see faces turning towards me, eyes alight with recognition. "I hope Effie's educated you on how to avoid small talk, because I totally failed in getting Johanna through this crowd," I admit to Tova in a low voice.

A soft chuckle comes from the petite woman on my arm, "The key is to make eye contact, smile but keeps moving with intent. If you hesitate at all...well... it will be like vultures on week old road kill," she tells me.

"Lovely imagery," I mutter unconvinced.

"Just take my lead," she sighs theatrically.

Taking a right out of the dining room, we meander our way through the other guests. Keeping one eye on Tova, I mimic her actions and find that her tactic is surprisingly more successful than I thought it would be. People smile, wave, even give a cursory hello, but we are not stopped.

"Well, I don't see Katniss or Becca out here, perhaps we should try in where the music is coming from," Tova recommends.

With one final glance around, we make our way to the end of the hall. Passing through the large doorway, we find ourselves in a conservatory. The room is enormous. With a high arching glass ceiling and walls covered in art, the room was defiantly designed to impress. In the right corner of the room, a stage has been set up and a group of musicians are playing and singing and unfamiliar melody. I watch the group for a moment, taking in the sounds and lyrics. "This music…it's different. Defiantly nothing like music I've heard coming from the Capitol."

Tova nods in agreement.

 _So I won't expect a postcard from Trafalgar Square  
But I'd be lying if I said I didn't care  
Because you can't just turn it off  
And put a blindfold on your heart  
But I'm off to a good start  
We're a continent away, but I do not know, oh no_

 _Because love is different than you'd think  
It's never in a song or on a TV screen  
And love is harder than a word  
Said at the right time and everything's alright  
I said love is different than you'd think_

"Trafalgar Square, where is that?" I ask, my own mind caught up with the rhythmic strum of the guitars. She shrugs and shakes her head, somewhere far away from here and in another time," she responds wistfully. I cock my head at her answer and she smiles, dreamlike look in her eyes. "These songs aren't new, they're actually very, very old," she explains. "After the rebellion, old recordings that had been hidden away by Capitol families for generations started surfacing and as you can see," she says gesturing to the band, "it's become quite the trend. Nearly all of the songs go back to before the great war," she says reverently.

"Wow, I have to say I'm surprised by that. I wouldn't think Captiolites would break the law for something as simple a few music recordings. I mean, that kind thing happened in the districts sure, but here?"

"Ah, yes, but you forget, Capitol citizens really like to own unique items, so hoarding something they thought others might not have wouldn't be such a stretch," she points out.

I consider this and nod, "Either way I glad for it, I've never been very fond of Capitol music," I drawl out, but my focus to the song begins to fade as my thoughts return to the task at hand. I eyes quickly go back to scanning the room for a familiar brunette.

Tova shifts closer to me and continues in a conspiratorial tone, "It's not just music either. There are books, art, movies, all kinds of wonderful things popping up," she says enthusiastically.

I reluctantly pull my eyes from my search of the crowd to look down at her. Her green eyes are sparkling with excitement, which I find to be not only kind of adorable, but catchy as well. "Really? So is this stuff black market?" I ask.

She shakes her head, "No…well maybe some, but most of it is being made available digitally," she tells me. "The books are amazing," she says dreamily, "I like the ones about history the best," she smiles.

"History books not made by the Capitol…why haven't I heard about this?" I ask, completely surprised by this information. I have only ever heard bits and pieces of hearsay about life before the great war and the idea of reading something not constructed by Capitol leadership sends a jolt of excitement through me.

She lifts her shoulders, "Probably because this trend is pretty new. It didn't really hit the mainstream until a month ago. I've known about it a bit longer since Jeromy has a friend who is a large collector of…well just about everything," she laughs, clearly fond of this friend of her roommates. "You should come over to the loft on Sunday, between Jeromy and I, we have an embarrassingly large collection of "histories" as they being called," she gushes.

"I would need to check..." I begin but I'm cut short by the soft lilt of Becca drawl from behind me.

"Peeta Mellark, we've been looking all over for you!" A bubbly voice calls out from behind me.

Letting go of Tova's arm, I spin on my heels to find Becca and Katniss coming through the crowd. My eyes instinctively go evaluate Katniss's demeanor. I find her with a look of annoyed confusion on her face as she stares across the room. I look back to see what she's staring at and instantly have to tap down a laugh. About 500 meters from us I spot a Capitol woman with bright yellow hair formed into the shape of a bird cage and within the bird cage, a Mockingjay-a fake one thank goodness. It is a ridiculous hair style, and based on the other people in attendance a bit "old fashioned". While most Capitol woman still sports unnatural hair colors, the styles are much more subdued than they have been the past. As I'm pondering this thought, the owner of the hair suddenly turns in my direction. I instinctively turn away, ducking my head a bit.

"You better hope she didn't spot you looking at her," Katniss whispers as she sidles up next to me, "because if I have to try to make serious conversation with that bird looking back at me, I will not let you live it down Mellark," she chuckles softly.

I smirk at her and peek back over my shoulder. I audible sigh escapes me when I see another group of partygoers has stopped to speak with the woman in question. "I think we're off the hook but we should probably relocate," I whisper.

Katniss smiles at me in return and agrees with a nod. "Perhaps the bar, I could use a stiff drink," she mutters looking around at the loud crowd surrounding us.

"Ahem," Becca clears her throat loudly.

In unison, Katniss and I look up and Becca laughs. "What are you two whispering about?" she asks suggestively. "I know the Mockingjay wouldn't be keepin' secrets," she adds with a wink.

The code word "Mockingjay" was dreamed up on our train ride to the Capitol as a way for close friends to let Katniss and I know when we are acting in a way that could be misinterpreted by the masses as more than the friendship status we share. Quickly I do an inventory of the past few minutes and find that perhaps Katniss and I are standing a bit close. Add to that the secretive whispering and I can see why Becca dropped the code word. I mental groan. _That just how I am with Katniss. How the hell are we going to pull this off?_ I wonder, taking a half step to my left. I see Katniss gauging my retreat out of the corner of her eye and I add the word coward to my list of current shortcomings.

Tova, who is not in on the code word game, glances between the three of us and raises an eyebrow. "Am I missing something?" she asks suspiciously.

Katniss clears her throat. "Actually we were just discussing the bar," she says in way of transitioning the conversation away from Tova's probing question.

Tova's green eyes track Katniss for a second then lock with mine. She's not buying it, but she's not call us out either. "I've heard through the grapevine that the signature cocktail for this event is supposed to be amazing, shall we make our way out bar area?" she suggests. I'm gratefully for her discretion and make a mental note to bring her update about the code word issue later.

Becca grabs my arm and tugs me in close to her, "I'm afraid I was nearly been trampled by a woman the color and shape of pine tree! Will you be a dear and keep me safe until I can find my husband won't you?" she asks playing up her natural District 12 drawl and batting her eyelashes playfully at me. I chuckle and roll my eyes at her but securely tuck her arm into mine.

"Trampled, my goodness, how harrowing," I smirk, knowing deep down this is her way of protecting Katniss and I.

"Nearly trampled," she clarifies through a smile.

"Alright ladies, shall we?" I ask, gesturing for Katniss and Tova to take the lead. Without further ado, the two woman begin winding their way through the crowd. About half to the bar station, Haymitch and Johanna appear, fresh glasses of amber colored liquid in each of their hands.

Johanna saunters up to Katniss and tosses an arm around her shoulders. "So how are you liking the first trip to Capitol in which you aren't here to kill people or to be celebrated for killing people?" Johanna asks with not so much as a 'hello, how ya been' to start.

Katniss shrugs the older victors arm off her shoulder and glances at her side long for a moment before responding with, "The nights not over yet, now is it?" she answers, jabbing Johanna playfully in the ribs with her elbow.

Johanna laughs, "Touché," she says raising a glass to her in a salute. "So, where are we heading?" she asks, making it clear she's joining our entourage. "On our way over to see that sweet honey of _cousin_ of yours, I was hoping to say hello," she says wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Katniss doesn't filch as the insinuation, she's known Johanna long enough to not be rattled by her crassness any longer. "Actually we're finding some to the guests at this party to be a bit much to handle sober," she says eyeing Johanna expectantly, "so we're heading to bar. Looks like they were expecting us," she adds guesting to relatively empty bar area we have arrived in.

Johanna cackles and tosses her arm over Katniss again, "I've missed ya brainless," she smiles, "let me order you a drink," she offers, waving to get the bartenders attention.

Haymitch, who has been observing the interaction in silent amusement, suddenly steps up and grabs Johanna's arm. "Oh no you don't, I don't want the light weight princess here puking all over the table at dinner," he says. Katniss scoffs and opens her mouth to undoubtedly disagree with him or remind him she isn't a child but quickly shuts it when Haymitch pins her with an amused but knowing look. Turing to the bartender he orders, "Give me that blue drink everyone's carrying around and make it light on the liquor, heavy on the mixers."

"Okay, one Witches Brew coming up," the bartender says.

The name of the drink sends Johanna into a fit of laughter causing the bartender to give her a perplexed look before turning to the rest of us for our orders.

We're waiting for our drinks to be concocted when the light and an airy tinkle of a bell comes over the PA system set up thought out the mansion.

"And that will be our cue," I tell the group. Haymitch lifts an eyebrow in question so I continue with, "Effie asked us to return to the table when the dinner bell rang."

Haymitch nods and turns back to the bartender, "I don't feel like having whine with my dinner, hurry those drinks up won't ya?," he grumbles.

I feel a smirk threatening my face, but I push it down. "Since when does Effie Trinket scare you into submission?" I tease.

"Not wanting to listen to that woman complain for the rest of night is not submission, it's self-preservation," he grunts as the bartender lines the bar with our orders. Tossing the man a nod, Haymitch distributes the drinks to our party. "Shall we?" he ask, gesturing towards the dining room. I study him closely, looking for hints in his expression that might clarify the odd "Effie" vibes I've been getting from him since we arrived in town, but his face is impassable. Tilting my head and raising an eyebrow, I give him a look that lets him know I'm not buying his attempt to deflect me but say nothing. He just snorts and shoves me in the direction of the rest of group that has begun to migrate back towards the dining room. I laugh at him but start making my way through the crowd. Becca looks up at me, her eye twinkling. "You havin' a good time?" she asks, taking my offered arm. I glance back at Haymitch's grumpy face and snigger again then down at her upturned face and seriously consider the question. In spite of the Capitol trappings of this event, I'm actually relaxed...and laughing freely. In the weeks leading up to this trip, and this party, I've been concerned that upon getting here I would unable to shake the past from the present and have to deal with linger sense of dread I've felt all too frequently in the past when at these kinds of events, but my expected turmoil is nowhere in sight. I am having a good time, and although it feels foreign in these surroundings, I decided to go with it. "Yeah, strangely enough, I am," I smile, then give her arm a tug. "Now let's go feast. Because if the Capitol does anything well, it's food."


	14. Chapter 14

_Katniss POV_

Leaning back into the soft cushion of her dining chair, I sigh and gaze wistfully at the creamy confection in front of me. Peeta told me it was called cheesecake, but whatever its name it was divine. Sweet and velvety, it beckons her fork for another scoop, but her stomach flips at the thought, warning her against the action.

Up until this moment the evening, and it's decadent meal, had gone well. She had successfully finished each of the 6 previous dishes she had taken from the course carts that circled the dining room at timed intervals. Sans a buffet, her choices had been limited one plate per course, which in all honesty was probably why she was able to make it the whole meal without having to push her leftovers on to Peeta…that was until now. Resigned to the fate of the deliciousness in front of her, she looks across the table at him. With his elbows propped on the table, his empty dessert plate pushed away, he astutely listens as Tove speaks with animation about the "histories" The "histories", a recent un-vaulting of old and previously illegal books, movies and music, had been the main topic of discussion over dinner, one that had even drew Haymitch out of his usual grumpy silence. However, as the courses progressed the as did the discussion, slowly deviated into separate smaller conversations. When dessert had arrived, Katniss had lost interest in the conversations surrounding her and had turned to happily scooped creamy goodness into her mouth instead. Unfortunately for her, her ability to tun out the babble now leaves her with an overfull stomach and searching for a way to reinsert herself into the group dynamic, namely getting Peeta attention.

Long moments pass. _Does this chic ever come up for air?_ she glowered as Tova continued to droned on about a "histories" movie she had recently watched. Looking to Peeta, she finds him clearly entranced by the purple haired woman's story and a frown begins to crease her face, she pushes the inclination away, but she can't seem to keep her stomach tightening anyway. A familiar feeling began its slow creep up her spine, it's the same one she felt the day before when she had first found out about Peeta secret friendship with the green-eyed girl. _"She's not my girlfriend,"_ Peeta's voice echoes in her memory, but even as the words pass through her consciousness she finds, as she had yesterday, no real comfort in them. _You're being_ _ridiculous,_ she chastised in her seat, she shoves the train of thought away and refocuses her efforts of getting Peeta's attention. Setting her face to feign a look of interest, she leans forward and waits for an opening, but the talk goes on, and on. Fifteen minutes later she nearly groans aloud in frustration. _Damn that girl can talk!_ she grouses to herself. Feeling defeated, she drops her chin into her hand and resorts to simply staring at her ex-district partner, hoping to catch his eye. But alas, he didn't seem to take notice. She supposed this was the outcome of being the center of attention for years on end, one'ability to sense a set of eyes on you dulls.

Sighing once again, she glances warily at the taunting dessert.

"That pie say something mean to you?" Gale's deep voice asks from behind me. Startling a bit, I turn to find my old friend gracefully sliding into the empty seat next to my right.

"Cheesecake," I mumble in response.

"What?"

"This, it's cheesecake, not pie," I clarifying a hand at the desert.

"So…uppity pie then," he says, a smirk on his lips.

A reluctant smile breaks on her face. "Delicious uppity pie," I agree.

"And you're mad at it because...?" he draws out.

"Because I can't fit anymore into my stomach at the moment."

At this, he laughs. "A hungry kid from 12 is full, wouldn't have heard that a few years back." With this proclamation, Peeta's attention is finally drawn to my side of the table.

I glance over at Gale then over a Peeta, who has a small smile on his lips. I know he's remembering our discussion earlier this evening about our Victory tour banquet and I smile too.

"Not the first time. I've been known to overdo it at these banquets," I say sheepishly.

"In your defense, the food really was the only highlight of our previous visits," Peeta interjects.

Gale shifts uncomfortably in his seat and I can see he's holding his tongue. Peeta seems to have noticed too, as his eyes are darting between myself and Gale. I clear my throat. "Did you get to have dinner?" I ask Gale, breaking the awkward silence.

"Yeah, sort of. They had a quick meal for us in the kitchen shortly after we got here," he says, his voice tight.

"Are you working all night?" I ask.

At this, he smiles a little. "Nope, Collins showed up about 10 mins ago, so I'm officially off duty until tomorrow at noon."

"Oh! So do you get to enjoy the rest of the party?"

"Yeah. I mean, as much as I can enjoy this swanky kind of thing," he answers seriously.

I know what he means, it's easy to feel out of place when you've never experienced such grandness. I decided to lighten the mood and slide my cheesecake in front of him. "In that case, make yourself useful and finish this for me won't ya?" I tease.

Gale grabs my fork and digs in, "Don't have to ask me twice," he grins, shoving a forkful into his mouth.

Unlike Peeta, being a hunter has kept my senses sharpened so I immediately feel eyes on me. I look over to find Peeta with a look on his face that I can't quite identify but it quickly disappears and is replaced with a neutral smile. A feeling of betrayal springs up in my gut, but I try to brush it off. _We were joking about me passing off food on him. Plus, Gale is right here next to me, it's the logical choice._ I reason.

Gale is licking the last ruminates of the cheesecake off the tines of his fork, when a waiter appears to remove the dessert plates. "That was some pretty damn good uppity pie," he grins.

"You see my dilemma now?" I ask.

Nodding he sits back in his chair. "So what happens now? There isn't some fancy second course of deserts is there?" he asks sounding genuinely curious.

This garners Effie's attention and she laughs lightly. "No, they are done stuffing us for now," she says. "Now we dance," she smiles.

At this, he raises an eyebrow. "She's joking, right," he says in quiet and conspiratorial voice.

"No, she is not," I return regretfully. "But it's not just dancing, there is mingling as well," I offer up.

He snorts. "I should have requested to stay on duty," he says playfully.

"My dear, the dances are not hard and I heard that the band will be playing some district reels tonight as well," Effie effervesces.

Gales eyes glance over at me the question clear on his face _, Is she for real?_ Effie see's the transaction, and tosses her head to the side in a huff. "Dear Captain, consider this a night of education. I do realize that this very different than what you are used too, but if Haymitch and Katniss can learn to socialize, I'm confident just about anyone can be taught." Haymitch grunts and gives her a disapproving look, but Effie goes on undeterred. "I would also like to point out that there are a number of lovely young ladies in attendance tonight, perhaps dancing with them will not be such a chore," she says with a raised eyebrow, then continues, "You know, if you give people a chance, perhaps they might challenge your preconceptions about the people who live here," she says defiantly, but softens the delivery with a smile. "Who knows, perhaps you'll even meet someone?" she finishes in her most encouraging escort voice. Gale slumps back into his chair and his face goes red at having been properly dressed down by the petite little Effie Trinket, Capitol-lite.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the tableau, but Peeta chuckles rather loudly from behind his hand, struggling to maintain his decorum. Effie shoots him a look and the laughing halts, but a smile stays in spite of his efforts to remove it.

Dabbing her lips delicately, Effie then places her napkin on the table before rising. "Haymitch, I would like an after-dinner cocktail, would you please escort me?" she asks.

Haymitch sighs but stands up. "I could use one myself," he admits, offering her his arm.

Effie doesn't move, however. "I expect the four of you who have successfully navigated these events in the past to make the newcomers feel welcomed," she instructs, pausing to look each victor and finally Tova in the eye.

Peeta is the first to stand, "Shall we go and take in the festivities?" he says to the table.

Satisfied Peeta has the group in hand, Effie turns and disappears into the crowd with Haymitch in tow.

After stopping for after dinner drinks, our group slowly meanders its way into conservatory were music is playing and people are dancing and socializing. It's not long after that, that Thom and Becca break away to dance and talk with other district contacts. Before long, party-goers start approaching Peeta and I for dances. I graciously accept of course, but desperately hate this practice, especially during slow songs. I find the practice of dancing that closely with someone I don't know, strange and slightly intimidating.

After my third dance in which my partner, a very small Capitol man with bright green beard spent the entire dance stepping on my feet, finally releases me I make a beeline for Johanna. "That was tourcher" I groan, limping towards her.

She snorts, "Oh, yeah? Then I shouldn't probably tell you he spent the whole dance staring at your breasts then, hu?"

I feel my face redden. "No! He didn't…did he?" I ask, mortified.

She nods, "Yep, as if there was a TV attached to them," she cackles.

My discomfort flares into anger. "I hate this," I mutter.

"That means you're ready for another drink," she says grabbing me by the hand and pulling me towards the back of the room.

"What about the others," I ask glancing around our immediate area for our group.

"Peeta was just snagged up by Tova for a dance and I haven't seen your _cousin_ since the first dance," Johanna says without a backward glance.

My stomach tightens at the mention of Tova and Peeta, and I can't help but careening my neck to look for them on the dance floor.

"Oh relax, it's a reel, she can't get too cozy," Johanna taunts.

I bristle at the accuracy of her assumption but try to play it off with a roll of my eyes and scoff. "I was wonder how Gale is handling the Capitol crowd," I lie.

"So Tova's a little sweet on him hu?" she asks, totally ignoring my attempt to change the subject?

"They're friends," tell her, careful to keep my face neutral.

She scoffs, "Says who? Gimpy?" she asks.

I roll my eyes at the horrible nickname and turn my attention to the shrinking line of people in front of us. My guts, however, turn in circles at her observation.

"That's a yes," she laughs.

"Why wouldn't I take his word for it?" I retort, trying to sound bored.

She sighs and moves up to the open spot in the bar. "We'll take two Panem Ice Tea's," she orders. With that, the bartender disappears down the counter.

"What's a Panem Ice Tea?" I ask, happy for the change in subject.

"Don't worry you'll like it," she says waving the question off. "So Peety doesn't know he's got an admirer. Can't say I'm surprised, he can be as oblivious as you sometimes," she says steering us right back into the Tova and Peeta conversation.

I bite back a groan as the drinks arrive. Grabbing one, I take a long swallow. Johanna snickers and pushes away from the bar.

"What?" I ask, looking down suspiciously at the glass in my hand.

Tossing an arm around my shoulders she whispers conspiratorially, "Let's just say that this wouldn't pass Haymitch's beverage parameters for you."

I eye the drink for a second, shrug, and take another swallow. "It tastes good," I dismiss.

She hugs me to her side, "at-a-girl," she laughs.

As we work our way through the crowd in the conservatory we spot Peeta, Tova, and Haymitch making their way towards us.

"Well, well doesn't she look flushed with happiness," Johanna mummers to me under her breath.

I glance at Tova's admittedly joyfully face and take another long swallow from my glass. Johanna's comments are making my thoughts divert down paths that either imaginary are frankly none of my business. If she likes Peeta, who am I to stand in the way anyway? _Right?_ I take another swallow and feel my fingers being to tingle.

"What are you drinking?" Haymitch asks as soon as he's within earshot.

"Something tasty," I answer evasively.

He growls and gives Johanna the evil eye. "She pucks, you get to ride home with her!"

Johanna waves him off and turns to Peeta and Tova. "Enjoy the dance?" she asks much too innocently. Tova doesn't get the implication, but Peeta does because I see his lips tighten.

"It was a fun reel, " he says evenly.

"Yes, very fun. I don't think I've ever done that one before," Tova bubbles.

"Well it's from district 7 so I guess you won't have had the chance to learn it," Johanna says sarcastically.

Tova opens her mouth to respond, but Peeta buffers, "The next dance is one of the slow ones that Effie taught us, would you like to dance it Katniss," he asks.

My eyes pop open in surprise at the request, we supposed to be trying to keep the gossip down and we haven't exactly put the wholem " _Peeta might be able to touch me without going Mutt_ ," to a true test. "Uh…well…I…" I stammer and glance at Haymitch, who is regarding us both wearily.

"You remember the steps don't you," Peeta teases me when my answer isn't forthcoming.

"I just don't want to…deny the other… guests the chance to dance with you," I manage to get out after a second of debate.

Johanna swats my arm. "Oh, come on brainless, dance with the man. Besides the bevy of beauty's in our group, the pickin's at this party are slim," she says dragging out the word slim.

The musical interlude that has been playing between songs changes key and know I've got to choose now. Walking over to Haymitch, I had him my drink and whisper **,** "You'll watch him. Just in case, won't you?" He glares at me, his unsaid words clear in his eyes "don't do it". glare. I quirk an employing eyebrow at him and I see him cave. Taking my glass from my hands, he gives me a reluctant nod.

Turning on my heels, I stride over to Peeta. "Me forget the steps? This from a man with two left feet," I tease.

"The plastic one just doesn't keep as good of time," he returns playfully. I know this meant as a joke and not at all meant for me to feel bad about how he lost his leg, but I can't keep the twinge of sadness that dampens my smile a bit. He sees the change in me and quickly changes the subject, "Well, between my two lefties and your inability to recall the dance step, we should make everyone else out there look awesome," he smiles offering his arm.

I take a breath and reach out for it. As my elbow slides into his, my eyes lock on him, searching for any sign that I need to flee.

"Relax, I'm fine. I wouldn't have asked you otherwise," he says as he guides us to the dance floor.

I swallow hard as his left-hand slides in to mine and his right come to rest in the middle of my back. The music starts and we begin to move.

"And what about the other thing," I ask, resolutely keeping my eyes fixed on a point over his shoulder now that we are dancing.

"This is one dance among dozens. I figure if I don't dance at least one with you the rumors will just go the other way and everyone will begin speculating why we hate each other."

 _Good point,_ I think. "I suppose that's true," I admit aloud.

The singer begins to croon:

 _When your legs don't work like they used to before  
And I can't sweep you off of your feet  
Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love  
Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks_

"Try to relax Katniss," Peeta whispers, rubbing a small circle into the tight muscles of my back. "Haymitch is just over there watching me like a hawk, everything is okay," he soothes.

My eyes flit to his for just a moment and find them clear and unworried. The confidence in his face assures me that HE is in control, and not the mutt. I let out a slow breath and loosen the tension in my arms and back and let my eyes focus once again on the spinning couples around us.

 _And darling I will be loving you 'til we're 70  
And baby my heart could still fall as hard at 23_

 _And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways  
Maybe just the touch of a hand  
Oh me I fall in love with you every single day  
And I just wanna tell you I am_

The words of the song pull up long-buried memories of the past, of a time before Peeta's proclamation's of love were stolen away. Most days these memories seem to have happened a lifetime ago, but in this moment, they feel close enough to touch.

 _So honey now  
Take me into your loving arms  
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars  
Place your head on my beating heart  
I'm thinking out loud  
Maybe we found love right where we are_

My diverted eyes drift up to my dancing partner. I find him gazing down at me, one of his blonde curls hanging down across his forehead. The moment seems to slow and focus out of time with reality and I see the Peeta I _used_ to know. My chest tightens and my feet suddenly struggle to keep time with the music. I stumble over lumbering feet into his chest. I feel a flush creep up my cheeks and I quickly cover by curses Johanna and her drinks under my breath. Peeta chuckles softly and slides his palm across my back until I'm safely tucked into the apex of his bent elbow. "Now, now, she didn't force the glass into your hand," he teases gently. I want to reply with a snappy comeback, but the words dissolve in my mouth as his body heat begins to warm me _. This is not a good idea,_ my subconscious warns, but as old feelings of safety and comfort that I've missed so much in the last year begin to wrap around me, I find it hard to care.

 _When my hair's all but gone and my memory fades  
And the crowds don't remember my name  
When my hands don't play the strings the same way, mm  
I know you will still love me the same_

 _'Cause honey your soul can never grow old, it's evergreen  
Baby your smile's forever in my mind and memory_

"Evergreen…Everdeen…a girl who loves the forest… if this song weren't from before the Dark Days I'd think the writer was talking about you," Peeta says softly, his breath stirring a loose curl at my temple. The sensation is strange, but not at all unpleasant, and I find myself letting out a soft sigh. The tingle from the alcohol seems to mingle with song and sends my thoughts swirling. "Yes, but you're the one with the unforgettable smile," I mumble contently.

One of his eyebrows shoots up quizzically at the comment and the aforementioned smile graces his face. Heat flushes my cheeks and my stomach flutters a bit as I realize my comment could be considered flirting. My first instinct is to blame the liquor I've consumed again, goodness knows it the cause of my loosened tongue, but I can't seem to force the excuse past my lips. The truth is his smile is captivating, so I give up and simply shrug. His electric smile widens and his arm around me tightens a bit.

 _I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways  
Maybe it's all part of a plan  
I'll just keep on making the same mistakes  
Hoping that you'll understand_

As we slowly spin, the words of the last phrase cling to me, demanding my attention _. I'll just keep on making the same mistakes… I'll just keep on making the same mistakes,_ the phrase repeats over and over, each time becoming more accusatory. In the years I have known Peeta the mistakes I've made are too many to count. From my mistrust of him in our first games to my callous disregard of his feelings in the years following, I regularly struggle with the fact he has chosen to remain my friend, a choice the requires a daily fight for him. The blessing of who Peeta is, hits me hard causing my heart to thump wildly in my chest. Grasping his jacket in my fist, grateful tears fill my eyes.

"Hey what's wrong?" he asks, shifting me in his hold so he can look into my eyes.

I smile through my tears. "Nothing," I promise.

He studies me a moment, drawing comforting circles onto my hip where his hand lies. He looks unconvinced and worried, which only makes me tear up more. I'm trying to regain my composer when a sharp jab to my shoulder blade startles me and causing me to jump. Gazing over my head, Peeta groans pulls us to a stop. I whirl about and find Haymitch and Johanna standing in closed ballroom position, but at a dead stop as well, staring at us. I'm immediately upset at the interruption, but swallow it down when I meet Haymitch's raised eyebrow. "I was wonderin' if I could cut in, I haven't had a chance at a dance with ya yet Mockingjay," he says sounding casual despite the look on his face.

 _Code word "Mockingjay", yep, I had that coming,_ I think. I look at Peeta apologetically before turning to Haymitch. "You'd better not step on my feet old man," I grumble, taking his outstretched hand.

"I started doing this before you were born Girl," he tossed back as he swoops me onto the dance floor.

After a few turns, I caution a glance at Peeta and find he and Johanna have begun moving to the music. "Ahem," Haymitch chokes out loudly. I take a breath and look up at him. "It's rude to ignore your dance partner Mockingjay," he admonishes.

"I get it Haymitch," I mutter.

"I don't think ya do," he returns his voice low. "What if he had an episode out there?" he growls.

"He's been having fewer issues with that…with…touching me and not having them...so he thought that it would be okay…" I stammer.

He rolls his eyes, "So you two decided to test it out here!" he asks in disbelief. "What if he was wrong? Forget that you might get really hurt, but imagine the news articles! It would shoot this conference all to hell," he says, his voice low.

I know he's right, didn't I think the same thing? "It turned out fine," I shot back with more venom than is deserved.

The song ends and Haymitch sighs. Leading me off the dance floor he guides me not towards the crowd, but to an empty hallway at the back of the ballroom. Free of prying eyes, he pulls me to a stop and glares down at me. "Y'all want to test your boundaries, fine by me, but do us all a favor and practice in private, that way if he tries to strangle you at least there won't be footage of it for the evening news!" He growls.

I double down, regardless of the fact I know I have no ground to stand on as in this instance Haymitch is right. "He wasn't going to hurt me!" I yell.

Haymitch takes a step towards me and I try to back up but I back into the wall. He's so close I have no choice but to look him in the eye. Surprisingly when he speaks again, his voice is much more even and controlled. "Look Sweetheart, you and that boy are the closest thing I have to a family, ya got to be more careful," he says with more sincerity and warmth than I've ever heard from him. Shocked, I blink and mutely nod my head.

"Good," he breathes, sounding relieved. "Now let's talk about that dance," he says his eyes narrowing but full of a playful energy.

"There you two are," Johanna's voice bellows along the empty hall. The sound startles both Haymitch and I, and jump a bit. In spite of the death glare Haymitch send her, Johanna continues on casually, "Effie and Purple girl are looking for you two," she informs us.

Haymitch curses under his breath something about needing a 'damn minute to himself' before placing a hand on my elbow and guiding me past a laughing Johanna. As we pass through the threshold and back into the ballroom, he squeezes my arm gently and whispers, "No more kanoodling with your boyfriend in public," then lets go of me and disappears into the crowd.

Dumbfound, I stare are the spot he vanished into until Johanna appears at my side. "Your _cousin_ is lookin' for you for a dance," she says, elbowing me in the ribs. I blink and shake my head in acknowledgment, but do move from the spot I've rooted myself. Johanna stands in silent vigilance with me for a moment before adding, "Might be a good idea since you and Peety single handily tried to derail your whole kibosh on the star-crossed thing," she says, this time her voice low enough for only me to hear.

"We danced a dance," I mutter half-heartedly.

"You were snuggling on the dance floor," she returns.

I drop my eyes in resignation. "It's the first time I've been that close to him in over a year," I tell her confidentially.

To my surprise, she just nods as a look of understanding passing between us. "You should go find Gale," she says, giving me a small shove, "He's over at the bar."

Tossing her a grateful smile, I turn and begin wading through the sea of people toward the back of the room.


	15. Chapter 15

"So, are you two trying to sabotage yourselves or what?" the small burnet in my arms asks, a phony smile pasted on her face as we turn circles around the dance floor.

"It was just a dance Johanna," I return under my breath.

A short but shrill laugh splits the air, "And I'm the next President of Panem" she snorts.

An irritated sigh escapes me and I pull us to a stop. "You look tired, maybe we should rest" I grumble, leading her off the dance floor. She's snickering in amusement when I abandon her at the edge of the floor and cross over to seating area surrounding the bar area. Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms over my chest and watch as Johanna, an amused expression crosses to follow me.

Dropping unceremoniously into a nearby settee, she clicks her tongue. I glance over and growl out a quiet, "Don't!" I'm really not in the mood for a lecture, I know I screwed up.

Putting her hands up she smiles a devilish smile, "Look, I don't care what the deal is, but you two are the ones who…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know!" I say between my clenched teeth. I open my mouth to argue with her, but Gale and Effie suddenly appear from the crowd of party goers. Giving Johanna a glare instead of my verbal berating I turn to the advancing pair.

Effie, with one of her delicate hands tucked into Gale's arm, waved at us as they approached. "Ah, Peeta, Johanna!"

"Trinket," Johanna returns through a wry smile, knowing that Effie would hate being called by just her last name.

Pointedly ignoring her, Effie turns to me. "Have you seen Haymitch?" she asks.

I feel my forehead furrow, "He's…dancing with Katniss," I say confused that she wasn't aware of what had just happened on the dance floor.

Effie and Gale both turned to look to see the pair swirling about. "Ah, I see we missed grabbing them for our dance," she says, her face turning up to her escorts face.

Looking uncomfortable with the small woman's presence, he simply dips his head in response.

"Haymitch never has never been known for his patients, but I thought he could wait for me to complete one simple check in with the head of security," she tisks. "Ah, well we will just have to drag them back on to the dance floor once they have completed this waltz," she sighs. Looking back up at Gale she turns on her most dazzling smile, "If we are meant to wait, then we should at least do it with a beverage."

Gale does his best to cover his dismay when the small woman began pulling him towards the bar behind them.

A laugh crept up the back of my throat as I watched them sidel put the bar.

"Does she realize he hates her?" Johanna asked from behind me. Looking back at her in the seated I shrug, "I don't think it matters to her either way," I offer.

Reclining back in her chair, Johanna pats the open seat next to her. "Take a load off Peety," she suggests. I consider the invite warily, after all it not Johanna's personality to letting sleeping dogs lie, but my leg hurts were it meets with the prostatic so I give in. Sinking into the soft fabric of the chair I kick my prostatic out in front of me with a sigh of relief. Johanna eyes my leg silently before turning to look out at the dance floor. My eyes follow hers to Katniss and Haymitch as they spinning effortlessly around the floor.

"Didn't know Haymitch could dance," I mutter, a little surprised by his agility.

"Twenty-five years of wooing donors and victors events, you should only be shocked if he couldn't dance," she returns.

I consider the answer and nod. "I guess I always thought he would blow that stuff off," I admit.

"Didn't blow it off for you and girly," she counters, her voice descending an octave.

At this, my eyes go to hers and I find them etched with a thousand of her own sad memories as a mentor. My heart tightens for her and for all those forced to mentor kids to their deaths. There are no adequate words I could say, so I simply take her hand in mine and give it a squeeze.

After a moment she clears her throat and gives her head a slight shake. "So, you done being a jerk?" she asks matter of flatly, our shared moment dismissed.

A smile creeps into the corners of my mouth, "Yeah. All done," I relinquish.

"You know what, you're not just pretty, you're smart too! I like that about ya Peety," she taunts, patting my hand playfully.

Around us, the music of the dance fades and Johanna and I's gazes simultaneously turn to search the exiting crowds for our companions. As the crowds part, I spot Haymitch pulling Katniss through a door in the opposite side of the room. "There," I say, pointing in their direction.

"I see 'em" she sighs.

"What is he doing?" I growl.

"Being your mentor," she returns as she stands. I motion to join her, but she places a hand on my chest pushing me back into my seat. "It will be better if I go," she states evenly. I open my mouth to argue, but I notice Tova waving at us over the heads of the crowd as she pulls the rather "normal" looking blonde man along with her.

Before the pair is too close to hear, Johanna leans down and whispers in my ear, "I've got this. Go, dance with purple hair, it will help with the chatter." With that, she straightens and turns to the pair who've now joined us. "Time for another drink," she announces and without further ado, disappears into the horde. The blonde man watches as she disappears and turns to Tova, "And that is Johanna Mason I presume?" he smirks. Tova rolls her eyes in Johanna's directions, "Yes, she not really one for…" she stammers.

"For people. In general, that is," I finish.

Tova grins, "Well I wouldn't put it that way, she's just…eccentric," she offers.

I guffaw. "Eccentric is one word to describe her," I laugh. Standing, I hold out my hand to the blonde. "Hi I'm Peeta, I don't think we've met." I offer, foregoing a "proper interdiction" via Effie Trinket style.

Taking my extended hand he gives it a shake, "Jeromy," he returns.

"Jeromy is my childhood friend, my current roommate and who was _supposed_ to be my escort tonight," Tova teases sending an elbow into his side.

Cringing playfully at the jab, he offers up an apologetic look. "You know my dad," he offers up as an excuse.

Sighing dramatically she nods. "Yes I do…you are forgiven," she smiles at him.

Turning his attention back to me, Jeromy smiles lazily. "So you're the famous Peeta Mellark," he says as more of a statement than a question.

I feel my face redden, being reminded of my infamy is always uncomfortable. Before I can respond, however, Tova's elbow goes into her roommate's side a second time, this gesture less friendly than the first.

Jeromy's eyes dart to her as he rubs his ribs where her elbow hit, "What I mean is, Tova has spoken often of you so it's good to finally meet you," he offers.

The comment meant to cover his slip of tongue does nothing to ease my discomfort. " _Often", what does that mean?_ I wonder, my earlier discussion with Katniss about Tova blinking in the back of my mind. Tova continues telling me about her longtime friend but my head hums with my own thoughts so I only catch pieces of what she is saying. It's not until Katniss appears from the sea of people that the buzz of my mind quiets a little. As she makes her way to us, I raise a questioning eyebrow to her, silently asking about her exchange with Haymitch, but with a slight shake of her head, I know to hold my questions for later when we are alone.

Noting Katniss' arrival Tova turns to greet her. "How was the dance?" she asks, her voice high and welcoming. A 'nearly-there' scowl passes in Katniss' eyes at the questions but it disappears before anyone, except for those who know her best, can see it. "Well neither of my partners stepped on my toes, so that is something," she offers up blandly.

Tova laughs harder than the quip requires and turns to her roommate. "Katniss, let me introduce my roommate and friend Jeromy Threadgood," she offers, gesturing to the man at her side.

"Pleased to meet you," Jeromy says offering his hand.

Taking it, she gives it a single pump before dropping her arm to her side. "You as well," she returns rather formally.

The four of us fall into an awkward silence, music our only accompaniment.

"JEROMY" a shrill voice screeches above the din of music. Everyone's head turns towards a man with canary yellow hair bounding towards us.

I notice the corner of Jermoy's eye twitch, and the easy smile from moments before being replaced with one that is pasted on.

"Bise," he says evenly. "I didn't know you were attending tonight." Tova's lips twist into a smile but she brushes it away quickly.

"Oh, I'm just as surprised to be here as you are to see me. I just didn't think my work schedule was going to allow it!" the brightly adorned man twitters. "But mother made me see reason; it's important to mingle and brush elbows with clients and fellow designers," he coos, eyeing Tova. "Speaking of such, good to see you Tova, how have you been dear," he asks as they place air kisses to each other's cheeks.

"Very well, Bise, thanks for asking. I must say you are looking quite smart tonight," she compliments.

The very idea that the hideous lime green suit and yellow tie that matches his hair perfectly are "smart" nearly makes me cackle but I bite back the impulse.

"Oh! Thank you, it's a prototype of my newest line" he says placing a hand over his heart in an over-the-top gesture of gratitude.

"Really!" Tova exudes looking the suit up and down for a second time, "If this is just an inkling of what to expect the line is going to be a smash hit!" She says in a tone that seems sincere. Why she would like this electric colored monstrosity is beyond me, but I guess I'm not the target audience. I personally prefer well warn trousers and white shirts that can be easily bleached after a day in the kitchen or at my canvas.

Accepting the compliment with a beaming smile, Bise's eyes float over to Katniss and I. His scrutinizing gaze makes me want to squirm, but I force myself to stand still. "And look at what you have done!" he exclaims gesturing at Katniss and I. Stepping closer he inspects each of our garments individually, before falling back on his heels with a grin. "Bravo death, you have done a marvelous job of updating your uncle's work! He would be so pleased!" Bise coos, clapping his hands together in approval.

My attention snags immediately on the one word in the sentence that doesn't make sense… _uncle._ But per usual, Katniss beats me to the punch.

"Uncle?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.

My eyes turn to Bise, then to Tova who's face has gone pale. "Cinna of course!" Bise smiles.

"Cinna….but…you're district born…" Katniss returns, looking at Tova crestfallen face.

"My dear, Cinna was from district 8," Bise laughs as if this fact is common knowledge.

Katniss's eyes close and she shakes her head, "That can't be right! He would have … he…" she trails off lost in her own thoughts. When she finally looks up, her eyes locked on mine, "You didn't tell me…why?" she accuses.

My eyes go wide, "I didn't know!" I defend.

I'm not sure she looks convinced, as she gazes into my eyes. "I…I need some air," she finally states, turning and heading into the crowd.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I ask Tova, feeling completely bewildered. When she remains mute, I simply shake my head and turn to follow Katniss.

Thankful for the first time for the crowds, I find her in the hallway battling her way towards the front door.

"Katniss," I call as I close in on her location.

She glances back at me, "I'm getting out of this crowd, I need a quiet place to think," she says, pushing her way into the more loosely packed area.

I catch up to her and pull her to a stop. "I didn't know," I reiterate.

She shakes her head again, her eyes watery. "Please Peeta, I just need space," she says pulling her arm from my grasp and heading for the front door.

I don't know how long I stand looking at the empty space she once filled, but I'm jostled back to the present by Effie's hand on my elbow. "What are you doing here my dear," she asks.

I look down at her and shake my head slightly. "I need to get some answer, Effie," I tell her. She cocks an expressive eyebrow at me, "Well then, lead the way," she states. I'm a bit surprised that she doesn't dig for more info, but I don't have the brain space to consider this action at the moment, my only goal is to get to the bottom of this hidden truth.


End file.
